another day of football (lyn)

Before the day even starts, everyone knows it’s not going to be a good game. The quarterback is out injured and there is no back-up.  The star player is at his brother’s Bar Mitzvah.  And several other players on our already-tiny team are out.

It’s Saturday, so I start the day as usual, at the local Farmer’s Market. It’s already cold, even with the sun out.

I buy the usual:  a big box of cherry-vine tomatoes (hoping they are better than last week when two days after purchase they started oozing a disgusting white pus-like substance), some adorable baby brussel sprouts, four ears of corn (I can’t believe how good the corn still is), fresh sourdough bread for Alexander, two homemade blueberry muffins (I’ll maybe eat a half), a gallon of fresh cider, and a gigantic head of romaine lettuce. 

By 12:30, I’m in a car with four other Horace Mann parents, on our way to Litchfield Connecticut. There, the boys will be playing The Forman School.

It’s a gorgeous two-and-a-half hour ride.  The road is accented with bright reds, yellows and oranges.  It’s hard to imagine a more gorgeous place than New England in autumn.

It takes longer to get there than planned, and we arrive at the beginning of the second quarter.  The score is already 20 to zero, and then it gets worse.  The Forman team is a sea of green, about 35 big players.  The Horace Mann team is small in comparison, both in girth and numbers (only about 17 kids).  We get slaughtered, 32 to 0.

 But the boys always seem to be in good spirits.  The after-game spread is again a feast of unhealthy, tempting foods:  Dunkin’ Donuts, mini-fried hot dogs, tortillas, chips, salsa, and sushi with purple rice.  Everything gets devoured.  I eat too many chips, one awful fried hot dog, a small tortilla, and a few pieces of sushi.

We don’t get home until after 8.  Alexander is exhausted (he was at school this morning at 9:30 for pre-game practice).  We have pizza for dinner, and we are both grateful for not having made evening plans.

Football requires an inordinate amount of time (practice every day after school until 6, and all day Saturday).  Between academic demands and college applications, it leaves no time for anything else.  And I still worry about injuries.  At the end of every game, I silently count down the number remaining.  Just three more.