Our Passion for Football Could Get Us Hurt Here at LAP

Like millions of red-blooded, unathletic men across America, I will now be spending a good portion of my Saturdays sitting on the couch, eating handfuls of assorted snack foods and whining every time a player from my team makes even the teeniest mistake. It doesn’t matter that these men are performing feats of athletic skill I can only achieve in my dreams (after which I usually wake up with a pulled groin muscle.) And it doesn’t matter that each of these men possesses more muscle mass than my entire body weight plus a mid-sized SUV.

The reason these things don’t matter to us is because we know THEY can’t actually hear us. If they could, then our Long Awkward Pause football parties would cease to exist:

Brainrants: Did you guys see number 42?! That IDIOT completely missed the tackle
Omawar: Hey, Brainrants — I think he’s looking at you.
Brainrants: What…?
Chris: Try moving over by the cheese dip.
Gunmetal Geisha: Oh yeah, he’s definitely looking right at you, Brainrants.
Katie: What’s he holding up?
The Hedonist: It’s not food. I think it’s some kind of fancy GPS device.
Calahan: Why’s he smiling and pointing at us like that?
Jaclyn: Quick, Jack! Change the channel!

This slight exaggeration was done to make a point, which is that, aside from leaving for work one morning and being tackled through the screen door by a 310-pound linebacker, nothing can keep a us from shouting at the TV during a sporting event. In fact, Chowderhead, who owns a giant flat-screen TV with picture-in-picture viewing, has taken this to a new level by learning to yell at four different games at once. While this is certainly an impressive display of multi-tasking, watching a game with him is like watching a game with a sports fanatic suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder.

I should clarify that not all sporting events fuel a our primal need to yell at the TV. One example is bowling. The reason is simple:

There’s no element of physical danger involved.

Our passion for football could get us hurt here at LAP

Except maybe this…

True, there’s always the underlying risk of someone’s fingers getting pinched between two bowling balls, but it just doesn’t evoke the same level of danger as it would if bowlers — like basketball players — had to actually compete for the ball in a tip-off before each frame:

“…The ball goes UP-and-now-down, off the head of Czechoslovakia’s Sirius Kunkussion, and onto the foot of Floppy Sesamoid, who is now gasping for air from the hand blower…”

It’s pretty much the same thing for golf and tennis; no real danger involved. And even though golf does use exciting terms like Water Hazard! Sand Trap! and Sudden Death!, we all know the only real danger is Peter Jacobsen forgetting to pack a sweater for the senior tour.

However, in both sports, a few well-placed scorpions could make all the difference:

“What a beautiful shot by Rory, eh Tom?”
“Yes it was, Frank, but he seems a little hesitant to get his ball.”
“Well, Rory’s a smart golfer. He knows there’s a good chance one of the three remaining scorpion hazards is probably in that cup.”
“Good point. But remember, he still has one last caddy-option left. The question, of course, is whether to sacrifice him here, or save him for the sand trap.”

Or tennis:

“In case you’re just tuning in, it’s advantage Williams, which means Sharapova must win this next point if she wants to stay alive — no easy feat, I must say.
“That’s right, Tom. As you can see, they have just released the scorpions on Serena’s side of the court. One wrong step, and she could — WHOA! I think we’ve just lost another ball boy…”

Now, before we get a bunch of angry comments from bowlers, tennis players, golfers and scorpions, we at LAP have nothing but the utmost respect for those sports (and for scorpions in general.) In fact, the last thing we want to do is offend anyone with a racket, golf club or good enough aim to drop a 7-10 split.

Especially since we just had the screen door to the office fixed.

So as we all hunker down for the beginning of football season, on behalf of everyone here at Long Awkward Pause, we wish all of you the best of luck with your teams.

And No. 42, if you’re reading this, Brainrants said he’s sorry. He didn’t mean to call you an idiot. Someone must’ve spiked the vegetable dip… again.