Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, January 18, 1994 TAG: 9401180016
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 3 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Neil Chethik
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
We're football fans, after all, and we have an image to uphold.
Some people would say we are outside the bounds of decency, lost in a swirl of violence and competitiveness, our civility crushed under the weight of The Fridge, The Hammer and Mean Joe Greene. To them, I respond simply: "Shut up!"
Just kidding. But why are so many so quick to condemn us? As Oregon sports psychologist Steve Hand points out: "Watching sports is one of the ways we get back to being kids again, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's a man's chance to relive his glory days."
I know what he means. I'm no longer dumb enough to charge full-steam into someone bigger than I. But once upon a time, I was. Growing up, my male friends and I would seek out the muddiest or snowiest field every winter weekend, line up face to face, and begin the game: "Twenty-five, thirty-two, down, set, hike!"
Moments later, someone was sweeping around left end, following his spindly blockers, dodging would-be tacklers until a mass of arms surrounded him, latched on and flung him into the mush.
Flinger or flingee, this was heaven.
It was also an education. We learned about resilience, teamwork, timing. We learned to resolve conflicts, and to accept both victory and defeat. When the game was over, we'd walk home together, our faces and clothes splattered with mud, feeling like miniature versions of the tough guys who played the real game. As we moved into adolescence, we got bigger - and smarter. And
after colliding with a tree or a kid who was beginning to resemble one, we called a halt to these games. But our affection for them never died.
So we did the next best thing to playing football. We watched it on TV.
To share the excitement, we invited over the same guys we used to smash heads against. Girls, who were busy playing their own games, didn't understand. Neither did our mothers.
But our fathers did. They were already camped out, sipping and munching, when we arrived in the TV room. With them, we shared the excitement, disappointment, euphoria - emotions that few of us had permission to express beyond Sunday afternoons.
We felt connected to our fathers in those times. They taught us the subtleties of football rules and strategies. They shared the history of the sport, retold the legends of the Four Horsemen and the Galloping Ghost.
As we became adults, other interests, including spouses, friends, children, careers and lower-impact sports, began to encroach on our weekend time. So most of us cut back on our football-watching, picking and choosing our TV games, catching up in Monday morning's sports section. A few men
never make this transition, says Hand. Seeking refuge from the loneliness or the pressure in their lives, he says, some lose themselves in the clashes on the TV screen. Occasionally, they are inspired to become abusive themselves.
But most of us know the place of football. We appreciate the gracefulness of a Jerry Rice, the tenacity of a John Elway, the speed and power of an Emmitt Smith. We appreciate these things not because we endorse violence or hate our families, but because years ago, in our glory days, we were there.
\ MALE CALL
Men and women: How did you become a sports fan? What keeps you interested today? Send responses, comments and questions to VoiceMale, P.O. Box 8071, Lexington, Ky. 40533-8071.
by CNB