I Didn’t Understand Football.
Every Sunday during football season, we drank all day long. This was not different than any other day, except that it felt infinitely more acceptable to drink on a Sunday if football was on TV.
In Pittsburgh, football is synonymous with Steelers: signs, flags, bumper stickers, everyone adorned in Steelers gear: hats, gloves, jackets, hoodies, jerseys. There is no other football in Pittsburgh.
We met Larry’s brother, Timmy, at the VFW. Every few minutes, as I drank, the VFW erupted in screams, yowls, hoots or roars.
I’d glance at the TV: Helmet-clad men. Green grass. White lines. Whatever.
I didn’t understand football.
My high school sweetheart played football. I sat in the stands and looked for his number (23). When I found him, I watched him stand on the sidelines until he ran onto the field. Then he’d line up. Sometimes he pushed somebody and ran a few feet. Sometimes he ran in a circle. Sometimes he just stood there. Then he ran back to the sidelines, at which point I would clap as loud as I could.
So this is how I watched the Steelers games, except I wasn’t dating any players so I didn’t know on whom to focus. There seemed to be a bunch of guys in helmets and shoulder pads running in circles, all diving on a pointy ball.
One day Timmy – not Larry – figured out that I had no idea when to cheer and when to boo. He stared at me and then, earnestly, asked me a question.
“Which team do you like?”
“The blue team is pretty.”
“You like the Oilers? No,” he said. “Ya gotta root for the Steelers!” Timmy explained that pretty uniforms do not make a team better. Then he provided a short exposé of why the name “Steelers” is meaningful to millworkers everywhere … and clarified that the team name did not glorify shoplifters.
This was news to me.
After that, Timmy took it upon himself to teach me the game of football, using the word “we” when referring to the Steelers. I’ve always been fascinated by the fans’ alleged ownership of any team s/he likes. I became a Steelers fan that day so I could feel included.
Timmy said there was an offense and a defense, which is why sometimes “we” didn’t get to throw the ball. Also, we didn’t always throw the ball. Sometimes we ran the ball and sometimes we punted the ball.
Sometimes we got field goals, but they weren’t as good as touchdowns. Sometimes we took the ball from the other team – the best thing we could do – and got points that way.
“Can they take the ball from us?” I asked.
“No,” Timmy said. “Nobody takes the ball from the Steelers.”
He was serious. I believed him.
When something confusing happened – like a penalty or a sack – I didn’t ask for clarification. Everyone was too busy hollering at the screen. But Timmy spent the vast majority of the 1986 season explaining to me everything I needed to know to understand football.
I still only went to the bar for the beer, but it was better being included in the insanity. I had something to look at while everyone was yelling, and I learned to love the game.
Late in my drinking career, I stopped watching football – and I didn’t watch again until 2002, when someone at my son’s preschool in Maryland told me that the Steelers might make it to the playoffs. I was sober by then, and discovered that somehow I could successfully watch football without drinking beer.
Nowadays I am completely obsessed with football. Thanks, Timmy.