FOOTBALL: the perspective of two 20-something women

Reading my niece's perspective on football on her blog (www.irunmanymiles.blogspot.com - please find it there, you'll love it) reminded me of my daughter's perspective written 2 years ago.  Becca has a blog, too, which I thoroughly enjoy (www.bexandherlife.blogspot.com). But she gave me permission to print her musings on football here. (this is published in a compilation book  called Seasons of our Souls: Sharing our Thoughts on the Journey, available at lulu.com)
I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR OTHER WOMEN'S PERSPECTIVES ON FOOTBALL, TOO! SO....please leave a comment or a story or even a novella.....

Football

by Rebecca Wills

Over the weekend, I attended my first football game. For those of you who find it astonishing that a 24 year old American has never once watched a football game, I must explain. My family has never been a sports family, at least not traditional team sports. My cousins did play ice hockey growing up and I remember watching the Devils practice quite often at the local ice rink. There was a brief stint when my older sister was a Mets fan, but I believe that just lasted through high school. Other than that, since my little sister and I are actively involved in the Hunter Jumper Equestrian arena we have been faithful equestrian.
So, now you may ask, what prompted this visit to a football stadium? My little sister is in the marching band. More precisely, as a senior in college and in her first year of marching band she was selected to be band pit leader.
I found myself wandering in, lost, in support of my dear kid sister.  Once I found her she told me to select a seat near the 50 yard line to supply me with the best visual for the half-time game in which she would be performing. Since I had gotten there rather early I found a fabulous seat:  front row at the 40 yard line. This section of general admission was quickly filled with the gorilla killaz, the school spirit section (since the opposing team's mascot was a gorilla). Oh, joy.
Now even though I did not grow up watching sports, since I moved from the East coast to the Midwest, where no one has any idea who the Devils are I might add, I have found opportunities to go to several team sport events. My company sponsored a kids’ softball team this past spring and I caught on pretty quickly. I recently enjoyed the first major league baseball game I attended and I have learned to love soccer. I figured football wouldn't be so hard. Boy, was I wrong.
Flying solo to this event with no one  to coach me on how the game was played I was forced to learn by observation only. So after the first hut (is this the right term?) I tried desperately to find the ball. To no avail. I had no idea where it went after it left the hands of....was it the quarterback? Next start I figured I would watch to see who was being chased or tackled. I would follow the ball. So at the next start, I had my eyes peeled on the field, hoping to see where the majority of the action was so that I could see which team ended up with the ball. But it seemed to my untrained eye that everyone was tackled and half, if not more, of the players ended up on the ground!  I resorted to cheering when the gorilla killaz did and trying desperately to figure out what was actually going on.
I began to get bored of this exercise about half way through the 2nd quarter so I decided to start listening to the coaches. As it would turn out, the seat I had selected was perfect for that. I was sitting directly behind the defensive line and was able to hear the coaches very clearly; well, as long as the gorilla killaz were not shouting out some obscure command about breaking someone’s legs and how some of the players were of a variety of choice words. It also seemed that fate was smiling in my direction that day since the assistant defensive coach was rather handsome.  I found it pretty easy to watch and listen to him.
Half time went on without a hitch, except the baton twirler dropped the baton on a few occasions, and I have seen better dancers. I have to say watching my sister beating the gong, and running the mallets was very impressive.
After a very long second half and two overtimes we lost the game.
This is what I walked away with:
 1) the defensive team plays in order to get the ball back into our hands;  2) the assistant defensive coach is very handsome; 3) the offensive team is supposed to score, but seems to let the opposing team take control of the ball too often; 4) did I mention he had dark curly hair?;  and 5) football should be called warball.
Why you may ask? Well, first of all, it has nothing to do with feet except that the players are running on them and are continuously tripped up and fall off of them. And, secondly, it reminded me of the strategies of war. The soldiers (team players) go out and do what their CO's (Commanding Officers/Coaches) tell them to do in order to win their country (ball). Each play is like a small battle in the great war and the soldiers fight tirelessly to gain each goal and to keep their country ruling their territory. Oh, and did I mention that one coach was hot?