Skip to main content

Bills vs. Chiefs

 It's tricky to be married to a football spouse. 


I feel deep indifference to the sport--except that I wish that various players would stop assaulting their wives and girlfriends, and I wish that competitors weren't at risk of suffering permanent brain damage (and I wonder if Will Smith's crusading work, in "Concussion," has moved any needles, anywhere).


It's also tricky to feel ambivalent toward my hometown--because, if the Buffalo Bills do well, people come to me and say, "How challenging to be a Bills fan married to a Chiefs fan!" I've never been a Bills fan. To me, the best of Buffalo is Joyce Carol Oates. And Christine Baranski. I'd welcome this kind of text: "Go Buffalo! That's a seventh-decade veteran, Baranski, scoring yet another Golden Globe nomination!"

To his credit, my husband really limited the crazy-talk this season. He became upset when Buffalo grocers stopped selling KC barbeque sauce--and this was presented to me perhaps a bit too frequently, as if I could speak for the grocers. I feel nothing for the grocers. I don't know them. Also, wild-eyed, Marc showed me Susie's "lucky Chiefs sock": The sock had to remain on Susie's foot for a certain number of hours so that the Bills would go down in defeat.

When the Chiefs did lose, I experienced an internal challenge. I feel so cut off from professional sports, the events of a late-season show-down are, to me, like the minutes from a school-board meeting in Dayton, Ohio. Except this: These events had an impact on the man I live with. So I did a thought experiment. I recalled when the new revival of "Company" was panned in the NYTimes. And I remembered when Kristin Chenoweth lost a Tony Award--to Kelli O'Hara.

Those events were difficult for me; I couldn't control the outcomes, and I mourned the outcomes. I understood: This is what my husband is feeling right now. His Kristin Chenoweth has just lost a Tony. And, with that insight, I was able to say, with sincerity: "I'm sorry."

So I suppose football has "brought growth" to me. Strange new world....
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...
2 comments
Read more

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...
Post a Comment
Read more