Football Season
My football tickets arrived in today's mail. It was the second time in a month that I bought something no one wants any more. First, I bought a Buick. Now I know it's the hottest car in China. Respect for anyone who drives a Buick. But in the U.S.? Not that I don't like the car -- It's real comfortable; its rides real nice; gets pretty good gas mileage; and it has an XM radio. I can listen to jazz or blues or disco music uninterrupted. But I'm like the last guy in the states to buy a GM car. I was half expecting the factory to close after we made the deal.
But even though the Buick is old fashioned, out-of-date, whatever, it still performs the function for which it was designed and built. Not so for these football tickets I just bought. Why would anyone pay real money to see the second worst team in all of Division I-A? What enjoyment is to be had sitting and waiting for the Orange to fall 30 points behind, so we can then leave early? That's the self imposed mercy rule we have for Cuse football games. We always watch the first half, at least we do that for the two or three games we attend annually. But once the second half starts, when they fall thirty points behind, we're out. Sometimes they play well, say against a mediocre Division II team, and we're only talking about the first quarter here. But somewhere in the second or third quarter, there is usually a two minute span where they give up a couple quick touchdowns, often aided by a turnover or two, and then fall hopelessly behind. In ways, that's a relief. Those games are easier than the games when the D plays well, and keeps the score close, let's say six points heading into the fourth quarter, and then the offense gives up the ball deep in its own end, and now we've wasted the entire day, not just the first thirty five minutes of play.
When half time comes, there will be some ceremony to honor a team from a generation ago. Old guys will walk slowly out to the fifty yard line to receive a plaque or a framed photograph; the video screens will show plays no one sees any more, long touchdown runs, or bowl victories, or just completed passes. And I'll sit there, and tell stories about when Floyd Little single-handedly beat Penn State; or when Michael Owens ran in for a two-point conversion, giving Cuse a last second win over West Virginia and Major Harris. Or when Dardar returned the opening kickoff for a touchdown against Florida, and the noise in the dome was deafening all day, as Cuse never let up, and the crowd never sat down. And there wasn't a single empty seat anywhere. Now there are fewer fans in their seats than at most basketball games. And there's rarely anything to cheer about.
My boys wouldn't let me give up the seats. They were their Grandpa's seats, and the memories, the nostalgia, are apparently worth more than the cost of another year's tickets. I probably haven't gone to more than three games, if that, in any of the past five years. But for the time being, I'm hanging on to my season's tickets, and I'm still sitting in section 130. Not that I have any expectations for the coming year. Not that I'm looking forward to much of anything besides the visit to Kitty Hoynes. And yes, I'll probably drive the Buick on my way to these games. What could be more fitting?
But even though the Buick is old fashioned, out-of-date, whatever, it still performs the function for which it was designed and built. Not so for these football tickets I just bought. Why would anyone pay real money to see the second worst team in all of Division I-A? What enjoyment is to be had sitting and waiting for the Orange to fall 30 points behind, so we can then leave early? That's the self imposed mercy rule we have for Cuse football games. We always watch the first half, at least we do that for the two or three games we attend annually. But once the second half starts, when they fall thirty points behind, we're out. Sometimes they play well, say against a mediocre Division II team, and we're only talking about the first quarter here. But somewhere in the second or third quarter, there is usually a two minute span where they give up a couple quick touchdowns, often aided by a turnover or two, and then fall hopelessly behind. In ways, that's a relief. Those games are easier than the games when the D plays well, and keeps the score close, let's say six points heading into the fourth quarter, and then the offense gives up the ball deep in its own end, and now we've wasted the entire day, not just the first thirty five minutes of play.
When half time comes, there will be some ceremony to honor a team from a generation ago. Old guys will walk slowly out to the fifty yard line to receive a plaque or a framed photograph; the video screens will show plays no one sees any more, long touchdown runs, or bowl victories, or just completed passes. And I'll sit there, and tell stories about when Floyd Little single-handedly beat Penn State; or when Michael Owens ran in for a two-point conversion, giving Cuse a last second win over West Virginia and Major Harris. Or when Dardar returned the opening kickoff for a touchdown against Florida, and the noise in the dome was deafening all day, as Cuse never let up, and the crowd never sat down. And there wasn't a single empty seat anywhere. Now there are fewer fans in their seats than at most basketball games. And there's rarely anything to cheer about.
My boys wouldn't let me give up the seats. They were their Grandpa's seats, and the memories, the nostalgia, are apparently worth more than the cost of another year's tickets. I probably haven't gone to more than three games, if that, in any of the past five years. But for the time being, I'm hanging on to my season's tickets, and I'm still sitting in section 130. Not that I have any expectations for the coming year. Not that I'm looking forward to much of anything besides the visit to Kitty Hoynes. And yes, I'll probably drive the Buick on my way to these games. What could be more fitting?
posted by pops | 10:31 PM
1 Comments:
I'm glad you are holding on to the tickets. I am also glad that Ben Schwartzwalder never got the memo that the forward pass was legalized in 1933, otherwise we may have never had the glory days of Jim Brown, Ernie Davis, Floyd Little, Jim Nance and Larry Csonka.
Even though I've lived in western Massachusetts for 31 years, I still bleed orange.
Chip in Williamstown
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