Sis Boom Bah

A certain kind of writer would have described Jane Smith as a tough broad. She was somewhat north of forty, a chain smoker, with a face weathered by the California sun. She was a fellow student in my first graduate seminar in America and she was compassionate enough to realize I was suffering from culture shock and needed a friend. So she invited me to a college football game. I had no inkling that the university in which I was enrolled, the University of Southern California, was—and still is—one of the powerhouses of American College football. I didn’t realize that the stadium to which we casually strolled on a beautiful day in September was the Los Angeles Coliseum, which housed the opening and closing ceremonies for two Olympic Games. I didn’t know that all over America football fans were settling down on their couches with a six-pack of Bud and a bag of Cheetos. I would have been amazed to learn that most of them would give their next paycheck to have the opportunity to sit in the stands for the game.

It didn’t take me long to be astounded by the sight of all those cheering students. But who were these Gidget look-alikes in short skirts jumping up and down on the sideline and getting tossed in the air by so many Troy Donahues? And what was the point of the guy in fancy dress who came cantering out on a white horse? It seemed that Jane was compounding my culture shock rather than ameliorating it. Before the start of the game, the crowd rose to its feet and for the first time I heard the power of The Star-Spangled Banner being sung by 100,000 voices. That was a pivotal moment in my introduction to the United States.

Then the game began. Jane tried to explain what was happening, but it was a far cry from the Tottenham Hotspurs and Manchester United. Over the years I have finally figured the game out. Most of it, at any rate, but even the TV commentators have problems with some of the more arcane rules.

So why am I thinking about football now? The college football season is ending and once again I have failed to watch a single game from start to finish. I no longer had to watch children, I didn't have to take them to practices, games and meets, I didn't have to cook huge meals. There was nothing to prevent me from taking my place on the couch with my six-pack and my Cheetos. Except, perhaps, the realization that no game could ever measure up to my first, enjoyed in the company of a tough and kindly broad.