OK, so we’re finally getting jazzed for the Super Bowl. I’m jazzed for it. The two-week wait between the end of the playoffs and the big game is a big waste of time, in my view, and I didn’t pay any attention to the phony hype the media tried to whip up last week.
But now, I’m starting to get excited, even though I don’t have a dog in the fight. The boy is getting excited, too. The girl, not so much.
She just isn’t into football. She likes going to baseball games (both the Atlanta Braves and their local Triple-A team). She likes going to minor league hockey games. But she’s not a football fan. When she is dragged along to Atlanta Falcons games (her mom’s company has a luxury suite), she brings a book.
When pressed, she’ll admit that she doesn’t like it because she doesn’t understand it. I’ve tried to get her to sit and watch a game with me so I can explain it to her, but no dice; she’d rather climb into Harry Potter’s world.
I thought that maybe if the sport was explained in a more simple fashion, she might get into it, so I showed her a account I thought might clear things up for her. While she chuckled a little, she still doesn’t want to watch the game Sunday night and now she thinks her old man is a little more nuts than he was before.
She’s all about her little world right now, as I guess all 10-year-old girls are. She’s always talking about someone named Robert Pattinson. I figured he was a kid in her class she likes. The boy told me no, he’s the guys who was in those “Twilight” movies. So I took a different tact; I told her she’d like football better if she found a cute player she could root for. Her eyes lit up. I may have started something I will not be able to control.