Scooter and Mommy Watch Football (And Do Homework)

My son doesn't care for sports. I don't usually inflict it on him, but since the television has been on the blink in my room, sometimes he has to suffer. And since his mother chose to be fan of a football team that is not in the local television market and can only been seen by purchasing NFL Sunday Ticket (not gonna happen) or when they appear in a nationally-televised prime time game, he has no choice but to suffer on those nights. Such was the case this week when the Browns took on the Bills on Monday Night Football.

There was compromise, of course. I cooked his favorite supper in advance, and endured a screening of Kung Fu Panda, all with the understanding that when the game started Scooter would do his homework while Mommy watched ball. Win/win all around. The game plan was simple: Between snaps, I'd help with the homework. So wearing my jersey and football in hand, we began watching the Browns while working on our pronouns and antecedents and then math.

Those who saw the game know how it went. The Browns were up early, and then sat on the verge of blowing a 13-point lead in the fourth quarter for the third straight game, an NFL record for suckage. The evening went something like this:

"Tackle somebody you worthless idiot! Arrgh!" (Deep breath.) "OK, where are we? To whom does 'he' refer? Raul or Tomas? It isn't clear."

"So it's A."

"Correct." (Looking at TV...) "DO ANY OF YOU KNOW HOW TO TACKLE?!? And will you just shut up, Kornheiser!"

"We're still winning, Mommy."

"I know, baby, but this is the Browns. We will find a way to lose."

As the game progressed I gave up sitting altogether and stood in front of the television attempting to choke the life out of my Official PeeWee League NFL football. But I was still doing my duty as a parent.

"So what is the formula for the circumference of a circle?"

"Pi times the diameter?"

"Yes. No...no, no no!" and Buffalo took the lead. I sat down and closed my eyes. At this point, Scooter began to pray. I told him that God didn't concern Himself with such matters as football, but he insisted. Then we finished the last math problem and waited helplessly for the outcome. For the second week in a row, Phil Dawson kicked his career-long field goal (56 yards this time) to give the Browns the lead. I squealed. Scooter jumped up and gave me a hug. "We're gonna win!" he said.

Alas, I had to explain to him, that we had just completed a 28-yard drive in only about 45 seconds, passing into a constant blitz, instead of letting Jerome Harrison grind out a couple first downs for us and use up some clock. That meant the Bills had all day--1:44--to score, and probably would, because our defense sucks wind by half time, and they sure do in the fourth quarter. The game wasn't over yet. We had to wait for the Bills to go wide right on a 47-yard field goal attempt before we could finally rejoice.

And we did! We jumped up and down. We did the football bugaloo. We had a good night.