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I really haven't learned much about football in my lifetime. I haven't needed to. I just watch my husband. I can tell by his pacing, the variety and number of swear words used, and his propensity to stand up during particularly agonizing moments to inform me exactly what is going on in the game. I can read my book or make some soup using him as a scoreboard.
Last Sunday was particularly dramatic. He assumed more postures than usual. He has one pose where he bends over a little, hands on his knees, as if to tell the team he's ready and focused for them to do something right. He stares at the television with intensity. He's on their side but he's telling the Bills he's serious right now. Not kidding at all.
Certain swear words allude to certain on-field screw ups. The "D" word is for interceptions and fumbles--serious things. Put two exclamation points at the end of that word for effect. He also uses that word when he's in the midst of a home project that isn't going very well. I can hear him all the way in the basement. My dad was fond of that word whenever he was around a hammer, so I figure it's a pretty universal expression for men.
The "J" word registers shock and disgust--as in, "Are you kidding me right now?"
Last week I made an effort to broaden my knowledge about the game. "Was that a cush push?" I asked.
"Tush push," he said, correcting me.
Sad. I had been quite pleased with myself for even knowing there was a push involved. Apparently, football has reached the stage of my life where partial credit should count.
There is a whole vocabulary for football--and a whole school of knowledge about coaching and team owners and different kinds of plays and formations and strategies that I have somehow managed to avoid learning for many decades. Football fans can discuss defensive schemes, salary caps, draft picks, clock management and whether a coach should have gone for it on fourth down with the seriousness of people negotiating a peace treaty. I mostly want to know why everybody stopped running and whether we still have the ball.
I have spent my life blissfully outside of this knowledge. I know a touchdown is good, an interception is bad, and if Josh Allen starts running with the ball, everyone in western New York stops breathing. Beyond that, I rely heavily on facial expressions.
Football also has an astonishing number of rules for a game whose basic premise seems to be: get the ball from one end of the field to the other while several very large men try to prevent you from doing so. Every time I think I understand what just happened, a yellow flag appears and a man with a microphone explains something involving illegal motion, holding, or pass interference. I nod as though this has clarified things.
My husband, meanwhile, understands all of it. He's got living room authority. Like most football fans, he occasionally knows more than the coach, the referees and every player on the field.
He can say something like, "They're sitting back in nickel and bringing pressure off the edge because they know Allen wants to extend the play, but if the line gives him another second he's got the slot receiver underneath and the safety's already cheating toward the middle, so why are they not taking what the defense is giving them?" (I copied that from the internet.)
And I will look at him and say, "Exactly."
It's funny, because I want our team to win, but I really don't deserve it. My understanding of football is to cheer when our team makes it to the end zone and to feel badly when we give the ball to the other team by mistake. It was the same when my kids played soccer. I still don't know what offsides means.
I see all of these women running around in their Bills hats and sweatshirts at Wegmans on game day picking up chips, and I wonder if they really know football. It could be they're just using the day to hang out with other women in the kitchen and talk about kids and husbands.
Because, honestly, I have yet to hear a woman in my life describe a play the way a sportswriter would. The only women I hear talking football are the ones down on the field with microphones and headphones, discussing coverages and formations like they've been doing it all their lives.
And I'm not being sexist, but I can't tell you how shocked I was the first time I saw a woman sports reporter on the field.
"Wow," I thought. She understands football without having to watch her husband.
Pretty cool, if you ask me.