The Super Bowl was yesterday and of course my husband was up all night watching the game. I opted to stay home and sleep. The only athletic event I’m every interested in watching is power breaking. There’s something thrilling in that moment before a person strikes a stack of fifteen boards when you’re wondering if he will break the boards or his hand. Now that’s a sport.
Anyway, I found this video and thought it was pretty funny.
World Cup fever is sweeping the nation still, which means there’s a ton of English flags flying and lots of people buying beer in the supermarket. I don’t have a television so I haven’t seen any of the soccer football games, but judging by the cheering and yelling that’s been going on in the flat above us, I’m guessing it’s pretty exciting.
Honestly, I’ve never really been a sports person. I left Seoul just before the Korea, Japan world cup. I remember people saying things to me like, “I can’t believe you’re not staying for the World Cup.” Staying in Seoul for the World Cup seemed like a nightmare to me. Seoul already has too many people in it.
Apparently, the World Cup only happens every four years–like the Olympics before they split it up. I don’t care for the Olympics either. Actually, I can pretty safely say that I hate the Olympics. Does that make me less likable? It probably does but at least I’m honest.
If you have World Cup fever too you might be interested in this link featuring pictures of World Cup balls over the years. Check it out if you like looking at pictures of balls.
When we drove by the local park about a week ago, we noticed some men playing American football. Of course, my husband was thrilled. After taking us home, he walked down to the park to watch them play. When he finally came back home he had an announcement to make.
“They asked me to join the team,” he told me.
“You’re not joining the team.” It’s full contact tackle football. I know they wear padding but still. My husband is not a large man.
“I’m thinking about it. I could play…” This is where he named some position that I didn’t really care about because all I could picture in my head were the broken bones and loss of work that might result from this adventure.
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” I protested.
“Come on. I could tell people I’ve played on the British American Football League. It’ll be great.”
“If you live to tell about it,” I said.
I don’t like being one of those wives who rains all over the parade, but you have to draw the line somewhere. I mean come on. Why does he think he can start a football career at 43 years old?
He hasn’t joined the team and says he won’t, but from time to time when I catch him staring off into space I ask, “What’re you thinking about?” and he says, “Joining the football team.”
