A Football by Any Other Name

This Monday, I am happier than ever to greet the new week.

  • I have everything but the tree and the outside lights put away.  By design.  I intend to hold on to Christmas one more week.
  • The goodies are gone.  Today I am back to my fit-me.  Exercise and plenty of fresh food.  Oh I have some apples and oranges that want me; and I want them.  I can’t wait to trade my traditional Polish glomkies and perogies a good spinach salad.
  • I have my goals ready for the New Year.  Monday is my day to start breaking down my game-plan and putting it all in motion. (I already have a new hat and a scarf knitted from my yarn stash and three books started – one poetry, one fiction, and one non-fiction.)
  • I am full to the brim with football.

Not a big football fan, I try, I try, and I try to become one.  I stopped hating it when I got my own fantasy football team.  Loved-One is a sports fanatic.  I engage—come on already, everyone knows you pick the ball up and run until the ref whistles the ball dead.


My mind wanders, distracted by the uniforms and the fans, and the field.  Everything about the game makes me think of something else.  How can those men have such long hair sticking out from under their helmets?  Doesn’t their hair get pulled?  That would stop me faster than any illegal hold.

Sunday, I am thinking about the ball.

The football is not really a ball.  A ball is a spherical, not some kind of pointy oval.  Just because something gets batted, or thrown, or passed, or kicked in a sport is not enough to call it a ball.   Hockey has a puck;  badminton, a birdie; Frisbee, a disc; curling, a stone.  So let’s call a football something other than a ball, already.

My mind wanders to the shape of the football.

Seed?  “Kick the seed;”  “Don’t fumble your seed;”  “The seed is recovered of the 5 yard line.”

No that won’t do.  Pod might be better, but not much.  Egg?  Nah, too fragile.

How about back to Pigskin?  The official footballs are still made of leather.  The original footballs were made by inflating pigs’ bladders.  “Recover the Bladder,” “snap the bladder,” “the bladder got bombed to the receiver.”  Okay, now I gotta pee.

A lemon is the right shape.  I can hear all kinds of sweet and sour new catchy sports phrases with a lemon in play.

What else is shaped like our footballs?  What would you call it? While we’re at it, let’s come up with some better uniforms.  I want to see the faces of the players.  Otherwise, they might as well be robots.  Surely, modern technology can do it.  And outlaw long hair.  That hurts my scalp just to look at it.

Ahhh…. Monday.  So glad you’re back.




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