It’s fall, ya’ll, and that rhymes with, well you know. It’s the obligatory season of laced leather (thank you, porker) in an oblong shape and wearing a brown-pimpled jacket. Darn, never has the pig made such a momentous sacrifice as it did when it surrendered itself for football.
Now, do understand, I love pork roasts and other swine sides. But, I am one of those fanatics who would become an eternal chicken-licker if it meant giving up my barbequed ribs love for the beloved “pigskin.” We here in Minnesota are condemned to winters that are unbearable, even for polar bears. Our spring brings us rodents and road detours. Summer somewhat satisfies our unquenched desires for warm days, gentle winds and the obligatory (occasional) overnight summer rain. It would seem this year the only overnight summer rain came with some issues like torrential downpours, hurricane winds and lots of lightning strikes.
Well, say I, enough is enough. It’s fall, ya’ll, and time for – let’s sing it all together – football! I have never been one to say autumn is the be all and end all of life with football. But, I know that on any given Sunday, while some followers of the arts will be at a Shakespearean presentation; some political zealots will be attending a campaign speech by someone who represents nothing important; and some whale activists will be at a “Save the Blowfish” seminar, I likewise know their numbers will be dramatically smaller when compared to the overall gatherings of purple and gold-clad groupies (or, even green-and-gold in some watering spots). These football diehards will – male and female alike – offer some comments about the officiating that is not suitable for print. At half time, they will walk into the kitchen of wherever they are watching the game and scarf down some nachos or chips, along with a hotdog and – for sure – no caviar.
If they are in a local bistro, they might treat themselves to some potluck members of the local crowd have brought in. Guess what? I forgot to bring up the fact in between the cursing and swearing and cheering and high-fiving, a lot of these establishments provide a free meal come halftime. Heck, no, I’m not going to tell you where! I don’t want you beating me to the halftime lunchtime meal that saves me having to cook supper that night.
Yet, believe it or not, the food (whether served at home or at a lounge) is secondary to the game and the results. The banter will continue on well into the evening, about who did what that was great and who really messed up that play. If the purple-and-gold (or green-and-gold) win, there will be your Monday morning quarterbacks who will explain what the team did right. If the team loses, there will be a wealth of nonsensical information delivered by a man who should obviously have been named coach of the team, explaining why they lost (having not listened to his advice). Usually it’s the same person who, prior to the start of the game, predicted a 20-point victory.
I think what it all comes down to is the fact for four hours, politics, social struggles, personal issues and life’s problems disappear. For four hours, we sit in our purple-and-gold outfits shouting “Skoal,” and enjoying the camaraderie that gives us some warm feelings before the dreaded Minnesota winter returns.
Paul Ritzenthaler has spent most of his life working in broadcasting before retiring but still keeps himself busy by announcing baseball games at the Municipal Athletic Center in St. Cloud, golfing and trying to keep up with his two dogs Dani, a Sheltie, and Tucker, a Shi-Tzu, at his home in Sauk Rapids.
