It’s no secret that I’m a fan of pro sports.
I am first and foremost a baseball fan. Most evenings I’ll watch at least an inning or two of the Red Sox game. I watch plenty of games in full, and keep tabs on the playoffs, even if the Olde Towne Team isn’t playing. I’ll watch the entire World Series.
Basketball and hockey are my fair-weather sports. I can watch them both pretty intelligently, but I’m not likely to get truly into things if the Celtics or the Bruins aren’t doing well. Come what may, I’ll pay a bit of attention to the playoffs, whoever’s playoffing. But don’t watch all that much. I watched a lot more basketball when my husband was alive, as this was his first and foremost sport. I forget how much I enjoy hockey, until it’s in front of me. During my recent visit to Dallas, I watched a few (non-Bruins-involved) games with my friends, hockey being Tom’s first and foremost sport, his having played it in college.
And then there’s football.
As I’ve said (and written) more than once, football is the veal of sports. If I thought about veal, I wouldn’t eat it. If I thought about football, I wouldn’t watch it.
But I do, on occasion, eat veal. And I have, over the years, watched plenty of football.
It’s been sporadic, however.
While I grew up watching Sunday afternoon football (NY Giants; this was pre-Patriots) with my father, by the time I was grown up, I’d grown out of any interest in football. Too violent, too militaristic, too brain damaging, too exploitative of the many “supporting cast” players who end up with nothing to show for their careers (other than brain damage), too much of everything I no like.
My husband wasn’t that into it, either. So for decades, I didn’t watch any football. On Sunday afternoon, we took long walks. Or long naps.
And then the Patriots got good, and Jim and I started paying attention. And watching games. And it was good. And it was entertaining. And it was fun. As with veal-eating, I didn’t think about the aspects of the sport that had always irked me.
The first Super Bowl I ever watched was in 2002. Pats won! Yay!
Mostly, we were into the Patriots. One year, we began watching a non-Pats Super Bowl. At half-time, we switched to a special on the Red Sox 2004 American League Championship run, in which they brilliantly came from behind three games to zip and beat the Yankees. We never did get back to the Super Bowl.
But if the Pats were in, the game was on in our house. And although I thought our TV was too damned large, I had to admit it was great for watching football.
During the last year or so of Jim’s life, when we couldn’t get out as much, we watched a ton of football. Mattered not who was playing, we watched Thursday night, Monday night, Sunday afternoon, Sunday night. We watched all the playoff games.
And it was good. And it was entertaining. And it was fun. As with veal-eating, I didn’t think about the aspects of the sport that had always irked me.
Once Jim died, I stopped watching quite as much. But I continued to turn Patriots’ game on with some regularity. I watched the playoffs. I watched the Super Bowls.
Last year, I watched the knee-taking movement with some interest, sympathetic to the largely African-American athletes who wanted to draw attention – very respectfully, I might add - to the way in which African-Americans are so often treated by the police. Naturally, this was a natural topic for Trump to jump in on. After all, it centered around African-Americans, who don’t for the most part belong to his fan base. And it was something he could tweet-storm into a big, divisive, frothing-at-the-mouth wedge issue. (These days, who needs a dog whistle?)
I’m guessing that, this coming season, the knee-taking would have run its course. Or just turned into a “thing” that some athletes did and some didn’t. Something no one really noticed. White noise.
But then the National Football League decided that, this coming season, they would levy fines on teams that allowed players to take a knee during the national anthem. Maybe they were worried about more tweets emanating from the White House. After all, the Tweeter-in-Chief has upped the ante from suggesting that knee-takers should be fired to suggesting that they leave the country entirely.
Maybe the NFL owners surveyed their fan bases and decided that enough of them cared mightily about those ungrateful, spoiled, largely African-American athletes disrespecting the troops or the flag or the country or whatever they thought those players taking a knee were doing. So maybe they didn’t want to piss this portion of their fan base off. Or maybe they even wanted to rev them up more. (“We’re on your side!”) Maybe they just wanted to deflect attention from the grim statistics on how many of their players end up with disastrous brain damage from taking all those hits, which is a lot more dangerous in so many ways than taking all those knees. Maybe they just wanted to suck up to Trump. Maybe they really like and admire him. (One more reason not to like or admire the NFL.)
In any case, I’ve had it with pro football – even if they do back off their latest announcement (which, the day after, was already being somewhat hemmed-and-hawed over).
I’ll keep an eye on where the knee-taking goes this fall. One owner has said he’ll let his players do what they want, and he’ll pay the fine. Maybe, in a show of solidarity, entire teams will stay in the locker room during the anthem - which is allowed if players want to make an invisible protest. (Last year, there were many shows of solidarity in which teammates locked arms, or placed their hands on the shoulders of those taking a knee.) And I’ll continue to read the Patriots gossip about GOAT Tom Brady vs. Coach Bill Belichick vs. Patriots owner Bob Kraft – the sort of dysfunctional workplace stuff I so enjoy.
But come Sunday afternoon, I don’t plan to be watching football.
If it’s nice, I’ll be taking a nice long walk.
If it’s not so nice, I’ll be taking a nice long nap.
Enough is enough.
So long, pro football, it’s been good to know ya.
No comments:
Post a Comment