a pick up of eleven yards

It’s near the end of the year, and again I find myself looking at football. Sure I am in the midst of family, but football is also my family, especially this time of the year. The time where teams are trying to clinch play-off births and others just desire to be spoilers. Players who are sucking up the pain threshold a little bit more, to endure the wear and tear of 15 games. Throwing it all on the line, with targeted abandon and ambitions to knock the snot out of their opponent. And I sit back, with remote control in hand while screaming out loud, next to my baby girl.

The only regret is that this will be the last time I will ever see Monday Night football on ABC. After thirty five years, the show will end. I am a child of Monday night football. I was raised with Keith Jackson, Howard Cosell and O. J. Simpson. I even remember dandy Don and Frank Gifford. I had to be around 8 years old when it started on ABC. I couldn’t wait for the Monday night games, back then that was the only sporting even one could see on television during the week.

I still see those yellow suit coats in my mind and recant when I was pissed off when they changed the original theme music. Just hearing the old music got you excited and that was the era when during half time, they would show all the highlights from the previous Sunday.

For some of yall, its just a sporting event, just a football game, or it’s just a running play, but in these eyes, it’s a pick up of eleven yards and a first down, and for the record I despise the other team. Like I said, my daughter is going on seven months, and she likes football too. I guess we will cherish this last Monday Night Football game together.