Why No Southerner Wants to Die During Football Season
In regards to football, little has changed since 1969.
I have a friend who says she wouldn’t dare die during football season; her family wouldn’t bother to bury her until after the season was over.
She’s not alone.
Our outcry that frequently a favorite TV program gets bumped in favor of a football game does nothing except elevate our blood pressure, for as long as our menfolk sit goggle-eyed before the big box for hours on end, our voices will not be heard.
Some of us know when we’re beat, and having decided if you can’t lick ‘em it’s best to join ‘em, refuse to be isolated from where the action is. So we arm ourselves with a bit of sewing or knitting and sit docilely, exclaiming when the crowd roars, hoping we’ve made the right noises at the right time, returning to our knit-two-purl-two-ing during the commercials.
Last year a measure of help came. One food processor took pity on those of us who didn’t know a fair catch from a safety. Viewing and chewing, he realized, were as natural as inhaling and exhaling. What a perfect promotional tie-in! He brought out a little booklet called “A Ladies’ Guide to Football,” wherein all was explained. If, after reading it, you still didn’t understand the T-formation, you wouldn’t blame him. He tried.
The carrot held before the donkey’s nose in this case was the booklet’s section on recipes for dishes to serve after the game.
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Regardless of how enthusiastic or indifferent you may be to football, the season is an ideal time for partying at home. As long as the game is on, you never have to worry about providing entertainment. The lost art of conversation can stay lost as far as the viewers are concerned; their concentration on the game is the “something in common” all hostesses worry about.