Grandma offsides. Five yard penalty.

I LOVE the fall. I love the cool weather, the changing colors of the leaves, the Halloween decorations, the big fat harvest moons. It's always been my favorite season of the year and I confess that fall is especially fun in the South. Having grown up a Southern California city girl, I just can't resist driving by all the local farms with their corn mazes, pumpkin patches, and pick-your-own apple orchards. It's everything fall should be.


But there's another side to autumn in the South that I'm afraid I just don't get. Football. Now, for those of you west of the Mississippi or north of the Mason-Dixon line, you might be thinking, "What's to get about football? It's just football, right?" No, no, my young friends. Football in the South isn't just football. It isn't a sport. It isn't a multi-bazillion dollar industry. It's a RELIGION.

As Bryan pointed out in an old blog post of his, there is no football "season." True, from September through February corporate absenteeism and domestic violence reports spike on fall Mondays, and everything from the family car to the family dog is decked out in team colors. Heaven help the poor bride who schedules her wedding during this most sacred of times. Heaven help the poor baby who unwittingly makes his or her entrance during this most sacred of times. Heaven help the poor slob who dies during this most sacred of times. Folks attending weddings, funerals and birthings can often be seen surreptitously checking the score via text message and/or discreetly placed ear buds and I'm quite sure that an audible "GO DAWGS" has occasionally broken the reverent silence expected at such events. But as Bob Bell, a former NFL defensive lineman once said, "In the South there are three seasons: football season, recruiting season, and spring practice."


Now, as I've said, I don't get it. While I can appreciate a spectacular touchdown pass, a tight end's tight end, and some of the goofy end zone dances I've seen, the rest of it just leaves me cold. I wouldn't know a line of scrimmage if it bit me in the armpit and frankly, my dear, I really don't give a damn. Until one of my grandbabies gets involved.


While Bryan and Jacey and Cole were out West this past week, I had the wonderful privilege of caring for Hailey, Nathan, and Connor, including making sure that Nathan attended his football team's practice on Tuesday night. 5:30-7:00 at the local elementary school. I found it cute to watch him put on those funky pants with the laces in front. Hailey helped him get his shoulder pads and jersey on along with the helmet that looked impossibly big. There he stood, looking for all the world like a miniature Joe Namath. Too. Too. Cute! Off he went to join his team mates, all similarly dressed. They were just adorable!! Until the coaches got on the field.


Mind you, these boys are six years old--seven tops. Four years ago they were all still using sippy cups for crying out loud! All their lives they've been taught to be polite and play nice. Until now. I stood there, dumbstruck, and watched while three or four coaches circulated among these little guys SCREAMING at them. One little guy had somehow fumbled a tackle or a grab or whatever the hell he was supposed to do and the coach followed him around the field screaming "YOU CAN'T TACKLE SOMEBODY WHEN YER DOIN' THIS!!!" (wiggling his fingers in front of him) 'YOU LOOK LIKE YER GONNA TICKLE 'IM!!" "PUT THOSE SHOULDER PADS IN THERE--GIT HIM! GIT HIM!!! GIT HIM!!!!!!!!" This guy actually grabbed the boy's face mask and shoved him to the side, all the while bawling in the boy's face "GIT OVER THERE--IN LINE, BOY!!"


Well. He was lucky that he wasn't speaking to MY grandson. If he had been, I'm afraid I would have had no choice but to hobble onto the field and separate the man from his testicles. Luckily, the only time he screamed at Nathan was to tell him, "GOOD JOB, BOY!" while pounding him on top of his helmet. Even that made my skin crawl.


Well, Nathan was, of course, completely brilliant--what follows are several additional shots all taken by Hailey (EXCELLENT photographer that she is!) Nathan's the one in the white pants/black jersey. In the last shot, you can only see Nathan's fingers, though. They're wrapped around the waist of the boy in yellow--a spectacular end zone tackle if I do say so myself! I guess I don't really have to get football. It's enough for me to know that Nathan clearly has talent and clearly loves the game. The coaches, however, are a different story. Be nice to my baby, boys. Otherwise, I know exactly where to put MY shoulder pads.