Abbey Marshall | Staff Writer

abbey column

Game day: a day of endless screaming and cheering and jeering and eating and shouting and overall obnoxious behavior.

I grew up in a house with a dad and brother that practically have footballs as extra appendages. My Sunday afternoons, which I normally spend lethargically napping, consist of deep bellowing shouts that flood the house during football season. From every touchdown victory to every bad call, I always find myself yawning in contrast to the flurry of emotions that my family expresses. It’s not too hard to see that I never have been interested in sports. Sitting in front of a television screen to witness grown men attacking each other for a ball isn’t exactly my idea of fun; it’s an activity I attempt to evade by holing up in my room to read or work on something productive.

Unfortunately, the love of football that engulfs every inch of my house is unavoidable; to my dismay I have been dragged to high school and college games, I have been taught nearly everything there is to know about the sport, and I have consumed my fair share of stadium snacks.

Naturally, you could see how being forced to watch the Super Bowl would make me consider moving out of a country to a nation where football doesn’t exist. The impending doom I feel on game day is unreal as I savor each free moment I can before kick off. The moment that cleat touches the pigskin, I am trapped in a world of referees and yellow flags and time outs and first downs. I shove my nose in a book, attempting to drone out the torture, but the howls of my family always snap me back into the painful reality.

What I learned to do this year, however, is to set down my own distractions and look — not at the television screen or the athletes running up and down the turf — but really look at my family. Watching them get hyped makes me smile (after all, who doesn’t like to see their civil family turn savage for a few hours?). It must be nice to find a passion in something like that, the way I do in my own activities.

Perhaps I am just lucky to have a family that wants to spend time with me enough to involve me in their love of sports. Perhaps then I am not shackled to the couch during a football game the way I think I am. Perhaps I stay to watch them even though I could drive away — even if that does mean I have to endure game after game.


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