Mo Perry's Word Circus: For the Love of the Game

After a Friday Night Lights Netflix binge, Mo takes a stab at becoming one of the football-loving (or at least football-liking) masses.

Image credit: Photo by ElvertBarnes via Creative Commons.

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By: Mo Perry |   October 2011   |  From the print edition

One of my favorite projects is finding new things to be enthusiastic about—especially those I’ve always disdained. A few years ago I successfully turned my loathing of mushrooms into a healthy appreciation for them, and I’m still working on finding a way to enjoy the dreaded black olive. Right now, I’m trying to transform myself into a football fan.

The football idea came about pretty suddenly, when Netflix’s “watch instantly” function suggested I try a show called Friday Night Lights. The show is a spin-off of the 2004 film of the same name (think Beverly Hills, 90210 meets Rudy). One episode in and I was hooked. Like a desperate addict, I found myself tapping my arm veins, watching several episodes a day and—strangely enough—actually enjoying the football scenes. Sure, it helps that they only show the exciting plays, and the stakes are through the roof because you know all about the players’ lives and emotional states, but I was increasingly drawn to the ambiance of a football game: the autumnal chill, the huddle and dispersion across the field, the community members sitting in the stands with their hearts in their throats. I thought, “This is something I would like to like.”

But I have some problems with football. First and foremost, I don’t get it. The rules seem epic and labyrinthine, with more clauses, sub-clauses and exceptions than the federal tax code. Also, I never know where the damn ball is. In basketball, they do you the favor of making the thing fluorescent orange. In football, they put 22 beefy dudes in padding out there, one of which tucks a slender, earth-toned object under his arm while the other 21 run around like crazy—and I’m supposed to know what the hell is going on? And the down time—my God! Every time something actually happens we need to stop, get out the tape measure, talk about it, look at it again, regroup, have a nap and some pancakes, then maybe we’ll think about making another play.

Still—millions of Americans love this game, and millions of Americans can’t be wrong, can they? (Don’t answer that.) I just love the idea of being able to speak knowingly about McNabb’s arm and A.P.’s mow-’em-down running style. The question is: Without highschool romances and contrived TV plotlines to keep me invested in the outcome of every game, am I actually capable of giving a shit?

A friend with season tickets to the Vikings invited me to come along to the third pre-season game last August. He patiently answered my many questions throughout the first half: Why do they call it a “first down” even if it takes three downs to get those 10 yards? What’s a blitz? Tell me again what a linebacker does. I liked hearing the stories of the players on the field, the saga surrounding the individuals out there. Making the game a vehicle for the unfolding of human drama helps me, just like making mushrooms a vehicle for rosemary, garlic, butter and cheese allowed me to love them.

Speaking of food, football fare is another hurdle for this wannabe fan. When I finally ventured out to the new Twins stadium, I was as entranced with the culinary options as I was with the game. Not so at the Dome. You choose between four different kinds of ultra-processed pork in the shape of a dong, cheesy bread with enough grease to get a camel through the eye of a needle or a “commemorative” bucket of popcorn for the bargain price of $7 (have you ever, ever commemorated anything with a used cardboard bucket?). I’m sure if the crowd noise were muted for even 12 seconds, the cacophony of gas being passed would be astonishing. You can literally feel the wind rushing out of the doors after the game. (My friend told me that’s because the Dome is pressurized. Sure it is.) However, I did love doing the wave and the funny beer cups that they fill from the bottom up. Reading the newspaper’s sports section the next morning and knowing what they were referring to was also pretty thrilling.

So this particular project is underway, and the outcome remains to be seen. If it fails, it won’t be the first. Things I’ve tried earnestly to like and failed include: Lost, pineapple, Rollerblading, Tom Robbins novels, excitable dogs, Nebraska and watching other people play video games. If this one succeeds, it might just be my biggest coup yet.

Mo Perry is a Twin Cities actor and writer. She also blogs. Well, occassionally.