Sport-Blog.com

My mother was a Southern Belle whose goal in life was to look pretty, smell pretty, and socialize in prim and proper ways. My father was a Southern Gent who loved Ham Radio, Dr. Pepper, and football. Together, they had me in the great state of Texas, and then moved to Colorado where I grew up as a casual non-conformist, tom-boy, contradicting most of what they stood for. I struggled for years to find a common ground with my mom, as she wanted to put me in frilly dresses and bows, but by the time I was 10-years-old, I hit upon a connection with my dad that stands to this day. Football.

My dad was always a football fan; it is sort of a requirement of being a Texan. Needless to say, he loved the Dallas Cowboys, but he could watch any football game for enjoyment: NFL, College, or High School. My mother hated the sport, clucked her tongue at my dad when he sat down to watch a game, and never joined him. I was too busy being a kid to care one way or the other, until I visited my male cousins one summer in Texas. I had just turned 10 and they had acquired several hand-held video games; the old-fashioned kind like "Pong" that had only dots and lines for graphics. One of the video games was a football game. For whatever reason, this was the least favorite video game of my cousins, so they offered it to me. I hadn't a clue about the game of football, but I played with it and they helped me learn. After a few days I began to learn the rules of football, including what the downs meant, why I had to punt, the difference between a touch-down and a field-goal, and a few more of the basics.

Later that fall, back in Colorado, the Denver Broncos surprised everyone by going to the Super bowl. The entire state of Colorado was thrilled; my dad was thrilled too, because the Broncos would be playing his beloved Dallas Cowboys. This was the beginning of a friendly rivalry between me and my dad that has stood the test of time. My dad and I watched all the playoffs together and then prepared for the big game. We huddled around our little TV while my mom and brother did something else that day. We cheered, we laughed, we ate lots of junk food, and ultimately, the Cowboys beat the Broncos 27-10. Twenty-five years later, I still remember the score of that first football game that really mattered to me. My dad was so sweet about it and never gloated that his team won, though I mourned with the rest of Colorado.

Today I am married to a football fan - a Denver Bronco fan, no less - and together, we enjoy the games every year. We've seen the Broncos through their ups and downs and we've taught our children to like football. I'm always saddened when I hear about a disgruntled wife, deriding her husband for watching football. I wish every young girl was given the gift my dad gave me when he taught me to enjoy the game of football.