There is just nothing quite like high school football. Especially if your team won the championship. For the first time. Against your biggest rival.
The piles and piles of teenagers (wait---seems like I said I didn't like teenagers), the echoing reconnaissance of the band (yep mom to a flute player and a french horn player).
Then there is the thrill of the football players running onto the field amongst the cheerleaders and the band members, the fake fog,the cool night air, the soreness in your throat from screaming your fool head off at the players who cannot hear a word you are saying, and then there would be Morris.
The guy who sits beside me at the game.
My girls think it is hilarious. He bought me a season pass to the home games. My co-workers like to talk about him too. He likes to pat my knee, give me high-fives when we are winning, tell me what the penalties are before the ref says, and gives a play by play description of anything he believes I might not understand.
Oh, one more thing....
Did I mention his grandson was a senior and plays on the football team?
I didn't think that I did.
I would like to forget. It seems the harder I try not to encourage him the more trouble I get into. Oh wait...I forgot to mention that he is also related to a coworker--and the coworker came to one of the games. Yep. I am in serious trouble. Any ideas of what I should do?
Now, getting back to the football games. I love the game itself. My kids expect me to make a fool of myself, so I oblige them. I yell. I scream. I cheer. I move my fat @$$ to the beat of the drums. It is exhilarating and deep down I like to believe that my kids like the fact that I am interested in what they do. They often comment that their father never seems to be interested.
Ashley's boyfriend? He mustgo. now.
(I have tried to add photos tonight and it's not working. Check back over the weekend and I will let you get a glimpse of what I am trying to write)
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