Something odd has happened to me, something I could never have imagined.
I have made a point of finding out what a first down is. And an end zone.
And a field goal.
I now know that a receiver is not simply a part of a telephone, and that a touchdown is not related solely to airplanes.
These days - and honestly, I cannot believe I am saying this - I am reading the sports section of my daily newspaper.
(OK, not every day - not in the spring or early summer - but certainly in the fall.) No one's more surprised than me.
After all, there was a day, not so very long ago, when I would have left the den when the husband turned on the television and flipped to a channel where men with helmets and shoulder pads were smashing into one another.
Barbaric, I would have thought.
Then something happened. We decided to go away for a weekend.
"Let's go to Seattle," the husband said. "Maybe we can take in a football game."
"A football game!" I said. "Why would we do that?" "It'll only be for a couple of hours," the husband said. "Then we can go shopping. You should buy some new clothes."
And so I went. Reluctantly.
We entered the stadium and took our seats among what seemed like 5.7 million people, all of whom were wearing green and blue.
They looked a little, well, excited. Quiet, they were not.
"WHY ARE THEY YELLING SO LOUDLY?" I asked the husband.
"WHAT?" he said. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" Good things began to happen for the home team. At this point in my football education, I couldn't be sure what they were; I only knew they were good things because fireworks went off at either end of the field and the louder-than-loud crowd cranked it up a notch and the nice young man next to me gave me a hug and the kid right behind me gave me a high five.
The husband fetched us some good old American hot dogs and some good old American
beer and tried his best to give me a crash course in football, drawing pictures of the field on a napkin.
"THIS IS WHAT YOU CALL A 10-YARD
LINE!" he said.
"WAIT A MINUTE!" I hollered. "I THINK SOMETHING GOOD JUST HAPPENED AGAIN!" Indeed, it had. The nice young man gave me another hug, and the kid a row back began another round of high fives, and the fireworks started exploding again.
I wondered if the crowd could be heard back home.
The home team won.
And as the home team's followers poured out of the stadium, hooting and screaming and jumping up and down, it was clear they were in their happy place.
For some reason, I was too.
"Well," said the husband, "do you want to go shopping?" "Sure," I said. "For a Russell Wilson jersey. And then I think we should grab a drink. You know, to celebrate."
And with that, I became a changed person, one who's less apt to be marching out of the den, and more apt to be ordering fan gear online.
Can't say I'm on top of all of the rules. But I'm always on top of my Seahawks.
