Hat Tips

Hello,

Football season is here. I’m not real excited about it. I suffer from attention disorder, or however you say it. I can’t watch an entire game. Unless is involves the Ranchers, or maybe the Bison.

I am what many would consider elderly. And football tires me out. Especially when you have grandchildren involved. Because for them, football isn’t just for Friday nights, it’s a 24-hour deal.

Two of the boys play junior high football. It’s a big deal. Getting your own helmet, your own pads and a jersey with a number on it. Gage is 42, Evan is 40. I always had a number with like a nine in the front. That signifies that you are slow and are on the line. I was the slowest guy on a slow team. That bothers Slate, our five-year-old grandson who is the water boy for the junior high team. One of about five waterboys. He is also concerned that I didn’t play for the Ranchers (Harding County).

I was down at their home a couple weeks ago. It was late. The boys and Will had just gotten home from the drive from Colorado. They should have been tired. They weren’t. The pads came out. The helmets went on. And the living room became the Superdome. A game of tackle football ensued! It lasted for an hour. I’m glad they were padded up. It was rough.

I remember when all a grandpa had to do when babysitting was find a good book, snuggle up in my easy chair and read. Or tell a scary story.

Slate has been staying with us a couple days. You don’t snuggle up and read. You don’t find a movie that is fit for a five-year-old and make some popcorn. You play football. Hour, after hour, after hour. You are the coach. You are the guy that throws the flag. “Not like that! You have to throw it Grandpa!” You have to send in plays from the sidelines with hand signals. “No Grandpa! Not like that!” It’s hard to be the guy that throws the flag when you have to watch the entire field. I goofed up a lot.

I went to Bowman for the football jamboree on Saturday. It was grand. Lots of kids. Lots of friends. Lots of football. Then I played football all afternoon Sunday. As I write this, on Monday, I have to go to a game in Lemmon tonight. I am responsible for getting the water boy to the game! A lot of responsibility for an elderly man.

But I’ll make it. I have to.

Just to demonstrate how serious these guys are about this, I have to tell of when they were dressing for the living room game. The boys were in the bedroom padding up.

From the bedroom Slate yelled for his dad, “Dad, Evan won’t let me use his “nut” cup!”

I’m too old for football.

But Shirley still makes a pretty good cheerleader. Her kicks aren’t quite as high as fifty years ago, though.

Later, Dean