food and football (lyn)

When Alexander was much younger, he joined the local youth sports' teams.  He played soccer as part of Westside Soccer, and baseball, as part of CYO.  Neither was an athletic success.

Alexander’s two years of soccer, at ages 7 and 8, culminated in his scoring a goal for the opposite team.  It was the one and only goal of his career.  CYO baseball, at ages 8, 9 and 10, was not much better.  When Alexander wanted to quit, rather than discourage it, his coach at the time was all in favor, thus ending his chances with the pros.  While Alexander showed a serious lack of interest in the games themselves, he did enjoy the snacks that followed.  Every week, two moms were assigned to bring post-game snacks.  This typically involved bringing drinks, maybe some cut up fruit (that only the parents ate), and boxes of Dunkin Donuts, or their equivalent.

Now Alexander is older and plays a varsity sport.  And still, we have a food schedule.  Last week at homecoming, the parents responsible “ordered-in” the following:  the whole set up  (table, serving pieces, etc.), three large platters of lasagna, one large platter of salad, 100 garlic knots, drinks, and an extraordinary cake for the team, decorated with a photo from last week’s game and the names and numbers of all the players.  It was an impressive spread, by any standard.  And as tempted as I was, I only ate a couple of garlic knots.  It helped that we didn’t stick around, as Alexander wanted to get home quickly.

Today’s game is at Riverdale, a big-rival school for Horace Mann.  As I’m walking in, I bump into Scott, someone I dated before Alexander was born.  Our last date was seeing a play, The Perfect Crime.  Following dinner, I surprised Scott by blurting out (with a total lack of finesse) that I didn’t think the relationship was working.  I remember him sending me home in a cab alone.  But all is forgotten as we smile and quickly exchange hellos and answer the inevitable what have-you been-doing-for-the-past-20 years question.   Like my relationship with Scott, today's game ends badly, with Horace Mann losing, 34 to 8.

After the game, the parents follow the players back to Horace Mann, which is only a few blocks away.  There, the parents responsible for food this week have already set up the spread, which is less elaborate than last week, but more enticing.  The only thing forgotten is a sign that could have read: Nothing here is at all healthy or in any way good for you.  Buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken.  Homemade brownies with frosting.  And carrot cake that everyone is raving about.  This time I can’t resist.  I eat one fried chicken breast (amazing, especially the highly caloric very-bad-for-you skin), one big brownie, and a small piece of carrot cake, deserving of its reputation.  My big concession:  a salad for dinner two hours later.