"Football combines the two worst things about America: it is violence punctuated by committee meetings."
- George Will
Life. Love. Football. No, it’s not the Holy Trinity, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s not far removed. There’s something about watching large men beating the crap out of one another on a warm August evening. It’s like spring training baseball without the risk of sunburn and heat stroke. Except that players, most of whom will be driving beer trucks in a few weeks, are risking catastrophic injury in a meaningless game.
It happens to me every August; you can almost set your clock by it. I turn on my television, discover a preseason football game, and profess my surprise that it’s already football season. And here we are again.
Every summer, large athletic men arrive at NFL training camps around the country thinking they have a shot at glory. Some will make it, and it will be the realization of a dream. Most will be sent home to wonder what might have been…if only they’d been a bit faster…or stronger…or smarter…or….something.
I eagerly look forward to the NFL season. Like most fans, I played football as a schoolboy, which leads me to believe I know something about the game. I played quarterback, so I fancy myself something of an expert on reading defenses and throwing fades to the back of the end zone. I’m like most any other frustrated ex-jock, but allow me my delusions, willya??