Oh, the glory!

Well, I'm not a sports fan. Although I can watch swimming or running all the time, and I can get excited about soccer during World Cup or when I'm in Spain or Peru, I generally hate organized sports. They bore me. And furthermore, it pisses me off how much money they make. Boo. BUT...I was raised by a Buckeye. A proud Ohio State University Buckeye who has been loyal since he started going to school there in 1962, finally finishing with an industrial design degree in 1968, I think. I've grown up going to Buckeye games, wearing scarlet and grey, cheering for The Best Damn Band In The Land, the all-brass marching band that spells out a human script Ohio, the best sousaphone player dotting the "i." I go to these games with my dad to spend time with him, doing what he loves to do: watch the Buckeyes play their homoerotic sport, tackling each other in nylon tights, slapping asses, bring the bread, it's a circus, we love gladiators. :) But I really do have fun. The sun burning my face, the popcorn and all its buttery margeriney glory crunching underfoot - it's just FUN. And so yesterday I drove down to Columbus to tailgate at 9am with my Dad and his friends - cute old people with biting senses of humor and lots of iced tea. Then we wandered around, watching the thousands (109,000) people dressed in scarlet and grey awaiting the game where the Buckeyes would slaughter the Ohio University Bobcats. Our noses bled, all the way back near the top, my neck matches my red shirts now, thanks to Mr. Sun, and I stood up with the rest of 'em when that one guy went running from one end of the field to the other, dodging the slower, fatter guys as he darted to the red-painted grass at, they tell me, the "endzone." Why is this so poetic, you wonder? Apparently football brings it out. Even though I hate it, if I'm at a Buckeyes game with my Dad, I love it. It almost makes me cry.