September 13, 2000

Football: Reason to shout out loud

By GARRET LEIVA
Herald editor
       Some men inherit pocket watches from their father, others flat feet. I've received a widow's peak hairline, a propensity for storytelling, and the genetic predisposition to yell at the television set every fall.
      Now temperamentally speaking, I'd probably fall somewhere between even keel and mild manner. As fall approaches, however, the leaves turn color and so do I - usually vein-popping red. One tiny acronym transforms my jovial Jekyll persona into Hyde the breakables - the National Football League.
      Sure catching red lights when you're late for work can be annoying. And yes, aggravation best describes check writers in the express check out lane. But even telemarketers calling at 6 p.m. pale in comparison to prevent-the-win defense.
      Screaming at an inanimate tungsten filament box is something that came by me naturally.
      Every football season I sat on the couch sidelines watching my father play armchair quarterback. No one was safe from his offensive verbal air attack. Coaches ran the wrong plays, halfbacks hit the wrong hole, and referees where just plain wrong. Even Pat Summerall would be chastised for mentioning a kicker's perfect record inside the 40-yard line prior to said field goal attempt.
      My sister and I once tape recorded dad watching a game; which amounted to intermittent seconds of silence followed by "THROW IT ALREADY!," "PASS IT ALREADY!," "TACKLE HIM ALREADY!," or "CALL TIME-OUT ALREADY!"
      Proving football frenzy genes don't skip a generation, when I grab the remote control on any given Sunday I become my father. For an entire afternoon I become totally superego-less. Thoughts and four-letter words I didn't realized I knew fill the room. My wife used to ask "why are you yelling?," but now realizes the answer without the formality of a question - Detroit Lions.
      Gary Danielson, Scott Mitchell, Wayne Fontes, 'Run-and-Shoot ... Interception Again,' I've yelled through it all. Even with Charlie Batch and a 2-0 record thus far, I'm still a Gatorade bottle is half-empty fan who is waiting for the post-Thanksgiving cleat to fall. Perhaps that is why I stay a Honolulu blue and silver fan; deep down inside the sadomasochistic part of me enjoys the playoff season pummelings - plus I get to yell. A lot.
      I don't know if I'll ever have a son to pass down great-grandfather's gold watch, or my hairline. I just hope he isn't born with a weak larynx. After all, it might be tough to be heard over grandpa and daddy's Sunday afternoon crying.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail at gleiva@gtherald.com.