Mommy explains football

OK, the concept alone is scary, isn’t it?

It’s like this. I never get to watch the Panthers anymore. Usually, I’m doing hair on Sunday, which means 4-6 hours of take-down, brushing and braiding. If I’m lucky, I catch a few minutes between girls. But it’s the playoffs. It’s the NFC championship. So we planned. Game at 6:30? No problem. I do hair. Herb does dinner. I do dishes. I even make an annoucement.

MOMMY AND DADDY WANT TO WATCH THE PANTHERS GAME. IT MAY BE THE LAST ONE, OK? SO WE REALLY WANT TO WATCH IT.

And they tried. But they are basically incapable of not talking. They do not know silence.

“Mommy, why is Jake sitting down?”

“Because the other team has the ball. Now our defense goes out, and it’s their job to keep the other team from scoring. Jake is in the offense, and they try to score points.”

“Is it like time out?”

“No, sweetie, he’s not being punished. It’s just the other team’s turn to have the ball.”

Then Camille offers me the world — pop her toes, blow raspberries on her tummy, nibble her ears, tickle her underarms. Anything to keep me from watching the game. Having played all her cards with me, she goes to sit on Herb and sticks her foot in his ear.

So we give up shortly before halftime and put them to bed. I come back in time to see Seattle score — again. I’m now ecstatic to see them get a first down.

So Jake Delhomme just threw his third interception. And now I’m thinking he DOES need a time out.

Update: It’s now 34-7 with five minutes left in the 4th quarter, and I’m remembering the immortal words of Bluto in “Animal House”: “I recommend you start drinking heavily.”