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Friday, February 02, 2007

A colleague's wife baked (baked?) rice crispy treats colored and flavored to resemble footballs on astroturf in honor of, um, football, the chicago bears to be exact. This particular woman is very, very sweet, as are the football treats, and I have a vague suspicion she has a secret wish to give us all diabetes. Three glasses of water later and the sugar high induced by the three bites I took of the football have yet to diminish.
I have spent my entire life surrounded by people who are obsessed with sports. I know so little about sports it's kind of remarkable. You'd think I'd have picked up a little bit just by osmosis or by paying attention to the endless sports conversations, but it's like the part of my brain that can take in such things is completely dead. I did used to go to high school basketball games with my X, when he was in charge of a high school, and that was fun. I definitely got the hang of things, like yelling "defense" and saying things like, "that was a foul" and "travelling! travelling!" But that's about as far as it goes. I can sort of get into watching basketball, probably just because I've been to basketball games, but football not only doesn't interest me, I can't take it in at all. Last year, at the Superbowl party we attended (hosted by the rice crispy treat makers), I knit a scarf through the whole thing, and defended the virility of The Rolling Stones to the Stones haters in the room. I was only there because a. it was a group activity and b. the boy is from Pittsburgh and the Steelers were in the game. The boy, for the record, is the least sportsy boy I've ever known, although he, unlike me, at least understands what's going on.