Truly, it IS good I’m a band mom. Because after watching the OSU vs. Iowa game today, I think I finally discovered why football is just not the game for me.
Okay, before the other Buckeye readers have 16 kittens, “WHAT!? How could you NOT love Buckeye football!? ANY football!? That’s…that’s un-American,” let me say that I like it okay. I’m a Buckeye. I’m an alumnus, I grew up learning the words to the Alma Mater right along side learning Do-Re-Mi, The Wheels on the Bus and of course, the OSU Fight Song. I’ve been to games, I’ve cheered the team, I’ve worn the colors and I’ve sworn at the screen/coach/team/players when things don’t go right.
As a student I proudly walked across the Oval and yes, while walking, if the chimes ring from Orton Hall, I still, to this day, get goosebumps. I’m a proud Buckeye.
But…
…I don’t think I have that rabid, fighting rage it seems to take to be a “true” Buckeye fan…or even football fan.
I was moved today by this young, 18 year old freshman quarterback from Iowa who came into his first college game, on an away field. An away stadium filled with over 100,000 fans where only 2% or so were cheering for him and his team. I ached today for the Iowa player who had the ball…had.the.ball…and it slipped through his fingers, leaving him face down on the AstroTurf, spread-eagled and defeated.
Every time the camera zoomed to that quarterback’s mom, I felt more for her than for any team on the field. Any moment of visible defeat, I felt for their families, watching there in the stadium or from their televisions at home. People yell things at the players, things that no one would ever want yelled at our children. I hear it when I attend games (sadly, even high school football games) and I hear it on college fields, too. I’ve been to sports bars and heard the most obnoxious words screeched to these boys.
Boys. Someone’s sons. When they get injured, the fans think, “How will this affect our record,” and the Mom thinks, “Make him be okay…that’s my boy.” When they do something victorious like kicking the winning field goal, we yell, “I’m smelling roses!!!!” and his mom thinks, “THAT’S my boy!!” When the victory slips out of your fingers…or worse, the fingers of a teammate as he misses the catch intended for him – the catch you perfectly threw, the fans go crazy and that mom? That one lone woman in a stadium of 100,000…aches for her kid.
I’m not trying to be melodramatic, even though I’m sure it sounds like it. It’s just that I couldn’t do it. I can’t thank the gods enough that my boy chose band. They’re cheered all the time. Even if they choke, we cheer them on, encouraging them to pick up and do better next time. We visit other stadiums and the parents, while cheering loudest for their own kids, of course, cheer for my kid as well. Victories are celebrated, defeats are lifted as opportunities to “do better next time”.
I just wonder how we’ve gotten so involved, so passionate about our sporting events that we forget that those players…those boys are someone’s kids. They have a mom who still kisses their forehead when they’re sick, who still asks them if they’re eating properly, who still loses sleep some nights with worry.
I don’t think I’m meant to be a football fan.
I’m too much a fan of being a mom.
Recent Comments