Right now, autumn is upon us. Ugh. Autumn is, without question, my least favorite season. For one, I associate autumn with going “back to school.” Although I’ve reached the age of 22, I’ve never shaken the dread of “back to school” days. I also hate autumn because of pumpkin-flavored everything. Again, ugh. I hate pumpkin. It looks like the guts of a “Jersey Shore” cast member and tastes just as edible.
There are many more things I hate about autumn, but if I listed all of them, I’d run out of ink. But I would like to talk about a big one: football. Now, I don’t hold anything personal against the fans, players, coaches, managers, cheerleaders (especially), etc., in the sport. That said, I hate the sport itself.
And autumn, as I’m sure you know, is full of football. This is the season where, on any given Sunday, I’d be sitting on the couch, reading libertarian opinion columns, and a voice will call out: “Aw, man! Why the heck did the Broncos call a draw play at eighth and 21 with six yards down and two fullbacks rushed?”
Well, the voice says something like that.
This, by the way, is the voice belonging to my dear uncle, Paul. In the past, I would have made the mistake of saying, “What does that even mean?” Paul would use this as an opening to explain the intricacies of football—]an explanation that would, more often than not, leave me as confused as ever. I don’t make that mistake anymore.
My first issue with football is the complexity of the rules. I mean, okay, I know the broad strokes of “get the ball to the end zone so that we can perform victory dances and snog the cheerleaders.” But if that’s all there is to it, then coaches wouldn’t constantly be churning out (and studying) enormous binders full of strategies.
Secondly, when people confront me about my dislike of football, probably the biggest thing I hit on is the pace of the game. Again, ugh. Whenever I’ve sat through a football game, I notice that the clock is not capable of running for more than 20 seconds without stopping. It seems like every game consists of 20 percent gameplay (clock running) and 80 percent players wandering around the field and coaches arguing with the referees (clock stopped). I can’t deal with this. My favorite sports to watch are soccer and ice hockey; those sports are quicker.
Lastly, do you remember earlier when I mentioned how I grew up hating “back to school” season? Well, Do you remember your high school football team? I can’t speak for yours, but mine was full of jerkwads. Now, I’m sure these guys have since grown up, but then again, nobody from my high school made it to the NFL. The ones who do make it have no incentive to grow up. Not only will they continue to be celebrated for defending a piece of leather, but they’ll have exponentially more fans and a salary to go with it.
In short, there are a few reasons why, despite my pride in being a citizen of the United States of America, I dislike America’s favorite sport (while preferring more “foreign” sports like soccer and ice hockey).
Patriotism is one reason why I’m conflicted over my dislike of football. Another reason? Recently, on Facebook, I posted this: “Is it bad that, even though I dislike football, I’m identified on Facebook as ‘liking’ the Sea Gals (the Seahawks’ official cheering squad)?”
Actually, now that I think about it, remember how I said that the football players at my high school were full of themselves? So were the cheerleaders. I bet the same rings true for the ones in the NFL. So I take that back. Not even cheerleaders can make me want to watch football.