And we had the privilege of hanging out with our boys’ football coach for the big game. We didn’t have money for jerseys…so we made our own.
As you can see, only ONE of us was smart enough to vote for the Packers. In fact, at the party, there were only 2 packers fan. Me. And Carl.
Go Carl.
There might have been some tension during the game.
Mostly because…the Warren family Football Trophy was on the line.
Guess who won?
See, it’s not just about winning the big game…you have to accumulate the most points throughout the ENTIRE SEASON. And the best stats during the playoffs.
Some people are just really sore losers.
Let this be a lesson to you, Warren Children.
You got your football genes from me.
(And, you’ll never get this trophy…mmmwwwhhhaaaa!)
I think we need to pause here for a moment of silence, of mourning…of WARMTH.
It was getting COLD sitting out there in the stands.
But my boys are worth it.
However, it was with great sadness that I couldn’t attend the final game of the season – the first playoff game. A five hour drive (one way), the game fell on a Tuesday night two days before I left for a big conference. Regardless of how I tried, I couldn’t make it work.
So I sat in my kitchen.
Alone.
Wrapped in a sympathy scarf. (a huge thank you to my pal Darlene Guinn for her compassion in outfitting me with my specialized Football Mom scarf!)
See, we had the storm of the century that night. Driving rain, 50 mph winds, 34 degrees. I shivered just listening to it on the radio. Peter said he couldn’t feel his arms five minutes into the first quarter. The refs had to hold the ball down until the center could take it for the snap. The fact that the Vikings even completed a pass is nothing short of a miracle.
And, speaking of miracles, God showed up.
The team shivered their way through the half-time pep talk, trying to find some warmth from the bus heaters. Peter said he’d never been so cold in his entire life. (And let’s remember, we lived in SIBERIA once upon a time!) As they were exiting the bus for the second half, the heat hadn’t touched their core.
But see, God is on my side. My MOTHER’s side. He might not care about the score, but He cares about my son.
As they stepped onto the field, a nearby transformer exploded from the storm.
The lights on the field blinked out.
The team had to retreat to the bus for another thirty minutes until they found a backup. I think had they continued onto that field, the entire team might have ended up in the ER, suffering from Hypothermia. (And let’s add here, that the coaches were pretty cold too).
However, by the time they took the field again, they could feel their toes, their arms, their fingers. And their spirits.
No, they lost, but the boys played their hearts out. They ended well, albeit cold. I was proud.
I worried/prayed/paced him home, still up when he pulled in at 3am. Then I wrapped him in a blankie and poured hot cocoa down his gullet. Because that’s what we mothers do, donchaknow.
So, the season is over. Basketball is on the horizon. I leave you with this, a glimpse of the fun. (it’s just a sort of flaky home video, but it captures the fun in the stands – as well as my husband’s Vuvuzella! Pay special attention to big #33!)
This has been your Cook County Vikings Football Mom report. Thank you for tuning in. See you next year!
I love being a football mom. I go to every game I can, even if it is four hours away. I sit in the rain, the snow, the sleet and I sing the school song. I ice bruises and layer on antibiotic to cuts. I talk through bad plays and listen to endless hours of strategy. I know the stats and formations of the opposing teams. And I have the NFL channel playing in my kitchen.
I am a football mom.
Or…so I thought.
Until I met….Kathy.
Kathy is also a football mom. But see, Kathy had a son who graduated two years ago, so she’s been this route before (my son is only a sophomore…a STARTING sophomore. Starting at Middle Linebacker and Fullback….but I digress….) so she knows that being a football mom isn’t just about listening to plays and driving to games and icing bruises.
It’s all about the look.
I thought I had my act together until I arrived at the game and realized that I had NOT brought my A game to the stands. I do not look like a football mom.
And see, it’s not just about the gear…it’s about the details.
These details.
And don’t forget the earrings. Earrings!! With her son’s number!
Blindsided! Blitzed for the tackle!
Worse, I looked around and discovered I was surrounded by the Varsity moms!
This is Lori. Her son is the QB, #11. Her husband is the coach.
Lori is a football mom.
Not only that, but she brought a GRANDMA to the game with her! In fact, you can’t see it, but there is an entire ROW of grandmas back there.
I don’t have a football grandma.
There are others like me in the stands. Like my friend in the pathetic pea green coat.
Kathy sure looks gleeful. Probably because her son just made a great tackle.
Whatever.
Fine, Kathy, if that’s how you want it.
I will get the gear. The blankie, the numbered hat, the button, the jacket…the earrings. Maybe even a tattoo. (Okay, maybe not, but...) I will not be benched. Sidelined. Sacked.
I’m so sad. High School Football season died on Tuesday night when the #3 seeded team in the state beat us. That’s all I’m going to say about that because my poor 9th grader (Big #33) who started on VARSITY (yes, VARSITY) had to stay home from school the next day, wrapped in his blankie to weep (in front of the television).
I’m going to miss football season, the thrill of hearing my son’s name as he bounds into the field. The joy of seeing him fight his defender. The after game wrap ups where he details for me every play. (really, I know what a 46 sweep is!)
Most of all, I’m going to miss football hands.
Football hands are fun. They remind me that boys love dirt and tackling other boys with all their might. I gave birth to football hands.
These are the hands I cook pizza for, and huddle in the snowy stands to watch, and the hands that I’ll miss.
Until next year.
I think I’m going to go find my blanket now and weep.
Recent Comments