Now, check this one out… He sent deodorant to the Baltimore Ravens’ defensive players because he said they couldn’t get close to him the last time they competed and maybe this time they would be able to… get a little closer… (Drained. Okay, I’m back. Hey, did you sing that little jingle, too?).

I never remembered good things happening to those who taunted others, so I’m trying to figure out how this will be different. Some old schoolers say they would make him pay for it on the field with some smash mouth football. I’m all for that, but I guess I’m just a little beside myself that this is being tolerated as he’s being paid to perform and be professional… enough for the antics. Or, is it okay… you know, good for the game?

I guess I have this feeling because it is a true story, but I have another thought that I’d like to share, too. This guy, Michael Oher (defensive tackle for the Baltimore Ravens), was just drafted in 2009 to the NFL and his compelling story just stole the show. Literally…

Apparently, so much so, his story is now a movie.

The storyline goes from Oher’s unfortunate upbringing to his adoption by a well-off and caring family to his college celebrity of being a sought after athlete. That’s cool, but why? No, not why he had an unfortunate upbringing or why such a wonderful family adopted him. No… my why is more about why is his life now a movie? Who is benefiting? Now, this guy got paid (enunciate PAAIID) when he was drafted, so he isn’t hurting. His adopted family is comfortable, so I’m sure they’re fine. So who, I ask, is the more from the creation of this movie?

Now, if Oher is going to ultimately benefit off this movie, then I’m all for it. But, if some slimy, slick-suited salesman (say that 3 times fast!) convinced Oher and his family that this was the greatest of ideas just to exploit him, then I’m troubled by that. You know, you just never know…

Didn’t think that was going to be the spin, huh? I was just driving and I thought of the new season and I was just like ‘blah’… Honestly. How do you cope with that day-after-day, year-after-year sorta feeling that creeps up and shows its head every once and a while? You know, time and tenure are wonderful things and so I just wonder how one can press through the I-gotta-get-out-of-here itchies…

I’m sure even these paid (uh, really paid) NBA players feel this way, too, here and there. We’re all human and it has to spring upon you every now and then. Even with the money and the resources and the thrills, these athletic specimens even ask what else is there.

I’m sure I’m bumming around because my favorite season is gone, yet again, and while there’s this wonderment over the new NBA season, but I’m already in the playoffs (spring/summer)… Can we say Lakers and Celtics, with the Lakers taking it all?!? That’s an entirely different story…

Hmmm… Let me think on who’s jersey I’d like to swap out for and get back to you.

Literally. What’s left in the heads of those athletes who suffer concussions… yes, some have endured more than one.

I guess, moreover, my question is why would an athlete return to a sport when a concussion is suffered? I mean, the symptoms are real and the long-term consequences are real? A good number of concussions have occurred of late and one by one the athletes are returning to the game.  A sports loving friend of mine says having a concussion now days is as common as getting a headache. Wow.

To me, it’s never that time. One shaky skull and I’m done. I just don’t get it…

Hubby and I have the best, drag-out arguments about my professed love. In fact, we just had one a couple days ago. Now, listen… its not shallow by any means (You know, the stereotypical wife love for an athlete because of his jersey’s snug fit.). No, I am a real fan of Terrel Owens. I think he’s a great athlete and one of the best receivers who ever played the game. He’s dedicated to his craft, he’s passionate, and he’s extraordinarily gifted. He wants to win. He has the swagger to match and he just inspires me when he touches the field (especially with those catches across the middle).

This season, T.O. achieved what no other player has in the NFL and that is scoring a touchdown against every team… Uh, to which Hubby says, “You know why? Because of all the teams he’s played for so he’s had an unfair advantage” (Hubby, you’re such a hater!! Gosh!). Hubby thinks I just love bad boys in general… (Hmmm… This is the same conversation when he brings up how much I like Bobby Brown and Dennis Rodman [Whatever, don't judge me!]). Look, who doesn’t black out every once and a while? T.O. has his moments and so does every other superstar athlete (I think its in their nature.).

Now with the Buffalo Bills, my thing is, what’s wrong with admiring (a.k.a ‘loving’) a player who encompasses the position in which he plays? I mean, what off-the-field antics have you heard about T.O. (No, he didn’t try to kill himself.)? He’s not one of these knuckle head superstar athletes who starts fights in clubs, rapes women, or shoots himself. And, the media… don’t get me started with the media. Even Deion Sanders (former superstar player/current analyst) says the media’s questions are posed to setup T.O. to “react”.

I’m just saying… Whether he’s with the Boys (Dallas Cowboys, that is… for the NFL-challenged) or the Bills, T.O. can depend on me being a fan. Wait… in the heat of husband/wife battle I don’t bring up Hubby’s secret love crush on Angelina Jolie, do I? And, uh, she doesn’t even, well uh… Okay, she’s not too bad of a crush to have either.

Am I wrong?…

Although it has taken on other names (some that I can’t mention here… LOL!), this mountain is the ultimate training and practice tool that separates the 49ers from other teams. It is a grueling hill that each player is required to climb-doing various drills-and ultimately master… But that’s just the thing, you don’t ever master it. Players have said that although you think you have it down, it still creeps up on you and totally destroys your manliness (I’m surprise something can… Okay I’m back.).

What I like is that Singletary is pressing his players. He’s pulling that “thing” out of them. He believes it’ll make them better for it… I took the mountain thing on for myself (Yeah… no, I’m not actually climbing hills.) as a way of just pushing myself through just being average.

Now I’m going to eat some ice cream. LOL… I’m serious though.

A 2-year prison sentence has started for violating New York’s strict guns laws. Why?

Now a 3-year-old boy is without his father and a wife is left alone as she prepares for the birth of another child. Why?

The one-time Super Bowl champ is without a team and can only hope that after his jail stint a team will pick him up. Why?

His father stands in the court room and tells Plaxico to be strong. Why?

This all stems from Plaxico accidentally shooting himself in the thigh at a Manhattan nightclub… The gun wasn’t licensed in New York. Why?

Bad decision making… Period.

When I first started dating my now-husband way back in college, he made one thing very clear from the beginning: On Saturdays, he watched football. Every Saturday. All day. Without exception. This was not so much a stubborn stance or challenge, but rather just a standard let’s-get-to-know-each-other fact. Like “hey, I prefer my eggs scrambled,” or “geez, I can’t stand those creepy Geico commercials.”

Let me tell you, the man was not exaggerating. Saturdays were for college football, period. At 9:00 AM (we were back in Oklahoma, where everything starts an hour earlier than it does out East), College Gameday came on, and there was no looking back. Fourteen hours and 265,478 games later—give or take a few—the day would come to a close.

(Look, I realize that this blog is geared more toward pro sports, so allow me to explain: The NFL has 32 teams. That gives you, oh, 16 games to keep up with every week—fewer, really, when you figure in the bye weeks. NCAA Division IA football has 120 teams. ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY. And? They play teams from other divisions as well. So every weekend, there are countless games to follow.)

…But I digress. My point is, the man was smart. There’s something about full disclosure at the beginning of a relationship that establishes some kind of immunity against any future negotiation. I knew what I was getting into, and I still dove into things headfirst, so I had zero recourse when Saturday rolled around and those tickets to the matinee went untouched. Trip to the museum? Nope. Picnic in the park? Sorry.

As much as I may have wanted to pout and hold my ground, it didn’t take long for me to realize that I really liked spending time with this guy, and if I wanted to see him at all on Saturdays, I’d need to buck up and plop down on the couch next to him. Lucky for me, he thought I was pretty swell to hang out with as well, so he did all he could to make that time fun for us both.

We’d laugh about the ref with his belt cinched ridiculously high up on his waist, cringe for those sad fans in cracked body paint and curly wigs whose team was getting whooped, and try to figure out just what purpose those skinny little arm bands serve. He’d patiently explain to me over and over again what the difference is between off-sides and a false-start; why this was pass interference but that wasn’t. And he only teased me a little bit when I chose my five favorite teams based on fight song, uniform color, and mascot (OU, Michigan, Tennessee, Georgia, and Penn State, in case you’re wondering).

Meanwhile, I like to think that I’ve enlightened him on some crucial things he may not have noticed otherwise: Those buckeye stickers on the Ohio State helmets? They bear a remarkable resemblance to marijuana leaves. The guy next to the cameraman? Totally just picked his nose. That cowboy mascot with the huge papier-mâché head? Ridiculously creepy. Those Miami cheerleaders? They’re wearing boyshorts. (Okay, so maybe he’d have noticed that one.)

The bottom line is, we balance each other out. Now, 10 full college-football seasons later, I am officially a “fan.” Saturdays are our time together. We stock up on beer, whip up some deviled eggs and burgers, and settle in for a full day of games. These days, I can spot a false start a mile away, and we still chuckle like 5-year-olds whenever the commentators refer to the penetrating D. (What, was that over the line?)

Jennifer Solomon, Whimsy│Reason Boutique

What a wonderful time of year….
 
It’s sort of a holiday for football fans… no gifts or pleasantries being exchanged, just opening weekend.  It’s been 7 months since the end of last season… Testosterone levels have been kept in check.  Now it’s time to don your favorite jersey on casual Friday’s at work.  You stare and mumble under your breath when a co-worker wears your rival teams’ colors or jersey… football pools…fantasy teams consume much of your time. 
 
When else is it permissible to grill in the parking lot with 50 of your closest friends… paint your face purple, black, or silver and scream like a banshee in public?  So dust off the team blanket, chair, socks, and underwear…. “Let’s get ready for some football !!!”
 
Sundays in fall…Isn’t is a wonderful time of year???

David Neal, David Neal’s Blog