Humor: Addiction
by Cathy A Montville
My entire family is addicted to New England sports. This is a true and pathetic story, of the intensity of our passion for sports: Red Sox baseball indisputably, and Patriots' football, manically. We also embrace The Boston Bruins, and The Celtics. It’s a somewhat unhealthy, mildly disturbing allegiance.
Blame Dad
If the day ever comes when I feel I should inquire about therapy for my addiction, I have all the bases covered. Did you see that? Right out of the gate, I slip something in here about baseball, not to mention horse racing, which is another story all by itself.
My dad's head will be the first on the psychotherapy chopping block. Regardless of the fact, the man has been dead 39 years, I would charge him with getting the ball rolling (there I go again) on four Massachusetts generations of nuts. Sport's nuts I mean.
My husband's head would be next. My dad may have started it, but my husband put the final touches on the sport monster I have not only become, but also passed on to two of the generations myself.
Tough as Nails
My father played football, in the 40s, for his small Massachusetts high school…back when the guys wore leather helmets, and what almost looked like riding pants. We have a worn photo from the time, and his children treasure it. He was of Polish heritage and average in stature.
He was ‘strong as a bull' my mother use to say. My dad was a Purple Heart WWII veteran. Proudly, he marched in the Memorial Day parade every single May until he died. He was a no-nonsense kind of man. He was also a passionate hunter, and he loved sports.
My dad loved baseball. Here in the country in central Massachusetts he managed and coached a Little League team in the late 1950s and early 60s. My brother played ball in Little League, but Dad showed no favoritism. My brother was not on his team. As I said, he was a no-nonsense person.
My brother had to make a team on his own. A little harsh you think. I am talking about a man who was shot in the war. Heck, my other brother was a water boy and he, too, dished out water to another team…not my father’s team. That’s how it was back then. We did not question authority.
My Husband as my Coach
When I met my husband, I was the fan of baseball; he was all about football and basketball. It would turn out to be a match made in heaven. Baseball grew (and grew) on him, and I began my football education.
I always liked football, but knew nothing about rules and regulations. It simply was not as fun to watch when I was in the dark about plays and calls. My husband was on the football team, all his school years, and he is a football extremist. He proved to be a commendable instructor.
It did not happen overnight, though. My husband spent years explaining the same things repeatedly, football game, after football game. He was a patient man. I have lost track of how many games I had to watch. Only the good Lord knows how many beers my husband had to drink, to get through it with me.
My First Accurate Call
One Sunday afternoon, during a Patriots game, I made my first accurate call. Much to my husband's surprise/shock, I screamed out, 'roughing the passer'. His eyes went wide open. His mouth dropped. He stared at me for a second. We did a high five, and then clicked our beer bottles. He said, 'oh, yeah, baby', and we've been football buddies ever since.
Football Day Rules
When the football season is in full swing, we rearrange our lives, and our schedules. "Football Day Rules" are in place, and people are forewarned. My mother was on the phone with my sister one Sunday a few years ago. My sister said she had to call me about something. "You can't call there now," my mother screamed at her. "The game already started, what's the matter with you?"
My sister thought my mom was joking. My mom said, "No one, but no one calls there when the game is on." In other words,no one gets in to see the wizard! My sister was scared stiff: She waited for a day or two before she dared to call me.
A Football Nightmare
We were all settled in one night watching a pregame show. It was an hour until game time. Then catastrophe struck our household; our power went off. In the dark, my husband and I yell out in unison,' what the bleep'? Are you kidding me? We see our neighbor, who lives on another street, but directly to the side of our house, had lights on. No one on our street did, however.
We lit some candles and waited. We reassured each other that we still had an hour. For sure, the power would be restored by then.
The hour passed and still no lights. We shifted into a panic mode. With a flashlight in hand, my husband went to the basement. I was in the kitchen with my candle. After a few minutes, I heard the TV come on. No lights were on, just the television.
So possessed were we by football, my husband ran his work extension cords from our TV, out of the window, over a fence, and into our neighbor’s outlet on his deck. I don't know to this day, if our neighbor knew my husband tapped into his power. My husband claims he asked; I rather doubt it.
Football Lies
We have done things we are not proud of. It was all for the love of football. We shut the lights off and pretended we weren't home one Halloween, so we didn't have to pass out candy. The game was on; we had no choice. I have faked having the flu, a twisted ankle, strep throat, and out-of-control hot flashes…just to get out of going to something that coincides with a Patriots football game.
The hot flash lie came back and bit me on the bum! I don't use that as an excuse anymore.
One year, a company Christmas party was inadvertently scheduled on—not only a night that a blizzard was headed our way, but the night of a football game. When we got to the party, with excuses ready, as to why we would be leaving early, snow was just falling.
A short time into the party, my husband remarked that he was surprised the party was on the same night as the Patriots game. Everyone froze. The party planners had forgotten about the football game.
Now we had to pick up the pace, get this party over with, and hit the road. We rushed through our Yankee Swap gift exchange. Yeah, yeah, just give me the darn bird feeder, and let's call it a day. We heaped meatballs, pasta salad, and shrimp onto our plates, and shoveled it down.
Hold the Fancy Cheese
Outside, it was whiteout conditions; driving would be tedious and time consuming. No one had time to waste. We grabbed a box of trash bags, and proceeded to fill them with salads, cold meat, bread and rolls, fancy cheese, fruit, and crackers. It wasn't pretty, but the game would be on shortly, and we are addicted to football. I have no shame. Many will recall that night with me: It would be dubbed the infamous "Snow Bowl" at Gillette Stadium in Foxborough, Massachusetts.
All For Baseball
As for the Red Sox, we watch almost every single game of the long season. Forever it seems, I struggled to land tickets to Fenway Park. I tried to buy them, win them, and I begged for them. They are hard to come by, and always sold out. After failing to find tickets a few years in a row, I’d had enough. I booked two seats on a flight to Toronto. I had to. My husband and I stayed at the Rodger's Centre, and we watched our beloved Red Sox play a series with the Blue Jays.
Offspring Sports Junkies
My children, both girls in their very young thirties, adore sports. One thrives on the Red Sox, the other, on the Patriots. My younger daughter played sports, since she was five. One of my grandsons can hash over Red Sox player stats as well as an adult. The three-year old thinks he is ready for a spot on the Bruins.
My granddaughter, when she was just four, cheered on Coco Crisp, and still rallies the New England Patriots. It's a crazy family affair when it comes to sports.
Crazy Family Affair
I truly believe the love, my family, and I have for sports, is inherent. That's not a bad thing at all. I can only hope, my four grandchildren, don't exhibit the ludicrous behavior I have been known to display over sports. Funny, though, kids always seem to inherit your worst traits. I'll have to keep an eye on them.