The Seahawks played against some guys in maroon and gold uniforms. Lots of
grown men lining up waiting for a chance to run at eachother and knock
eachother down. I've been told it has to do with all the guys in blue and green
trying to move a ball in one direction while the guys in maroon and gold try to
move it in the other. I never saw any ball. Balls are round. I saw a strange
oblong, pointy ended thing for a couple seconds a few times but then everybody
tried to jump on it, so I couldn't see it anymore. And then they all jumped on
eachother again. It looked like probably some of them got hurt a few times.
That must explain why they wear helmets and lots of padding. I also saw guys in
black and white stripes throwing yellow hankies around, stopping the game and
stopping the clock so many times that a game that theoretically takes an hour
to play (four fifteen-minute quarters equals one hour, right?) actually takes
nearly four.
If I had a family member or a personal friend on one of these pro sport
teams, I would probably care whether or not their team won. These people in the
blue and green jerseys, though; I don't think anyone I know would even know
their names if they weren't getting paid an unreasonable amount of money to
play games a couple times a week. I really don't understand why people would
choose to watch that on television when they could instead go to a niece’s
dance recital, a cousin's kart race, a sister's choir performance, or a
grandchild's school play. Maybe even a nephew's baseball game. But people in my
family have consistently placed this group of strangers trying to knock
eachother over to try to get possession of an odd-shaped ball, above the
hobbies, talents and accomplishments of their own friends and family members. I
grew up listening to my dad and brothers screaming at the television, wondering
why it mattered, and asking myself why on earth they thought the referee or the
quarterback or the wide receiver or whoever heard them.
I don't understand paying grown up men millions or billions of dollars to
play ball games, when brilliant doctors who work hard to keep kids healthy
enough to play ball games get paid less. I think the farmers who grow our food;
the construction workers who build our houses, shops and roads; and the people
in the sweat shops who make our clothes deserve a higher paycheck than men who
can run fast, throw balls, and tackle other guys. Kids playing games makes
sense to me. Paying loads of money to watch grown-ups play games doesn't.
Maybe it's because I'm a bookish, conflict-avoidant, compassionate
introvert that my perspective on professional sport is so different from most
other people's. Competitive extroverts--like my father, my brothers, my
husband-- can be expected to enjoy being amongst a group of noisy happy people
who are excited about proving their team's superiority over another's. It's
really not my thing. If it works for you and the majority of people in the greater Seattle area, that's awesome. I'll wear my green and blue clothing so my colors will match the fans. It's safer to blend in with fanatics than it is to stick out, after all, and blue and green have always been among my favorite colors anyway. But that doesn't mean
I care who wins and who loses. I don't know any of those guys, but I hope they
all have fun and don't get hurt. I hope all the fans enjoy watching the game. I
also hope that some of the players give a portion of their obscene income
to charity so poor kids can grow up healthy and have fun playing sports and
ball games while they're young.
