It was a lovely Friday evening. I was outside playing in the garden and fiddling around in the shed looking for something (I don’t remember what). My step-son was here for the weekend celebrating his birthday. 29. Both he and his Dad were in the man cave cleaning guns or greasing trucks or changing the battery on the lawn mower. Something manly was going on in there no doubt. I was in my zone and they were in theirs.
As time went by I noticed the friendly jabber of father-son conversation had quieted to silence in the vicinity of the man cave. Were they asleep? Were they drunk and passed out? Were they concentrating on making my life easier by performing some much needed honey-dos? I had to investigate…
They weren’t in the man cave. They were in the house, I could hear a ball game of some sort from the deck. It sounded like they were very involved and having one hell of a good time. But wait! This isn’t Sooper Bowl Weekend. It’s too early into the basketball season for anyone to care who’s winning or losing yet. And they were having way too much fun for it to be golf (plus I heard the tell tale whistle of some active sport). What could they be watching??
I must admit at this point I didn’t really care what they were doing or watching, but was a little intrigued at what it was that had them so joyous sounding.
I found out.
Panty Football. Known to the sinister underbelly of the sporting world as Lingerie Football. Ever heard of it? It’s simple. Gorgeous women wearing underwear (complete with little garterbelt looking hangy-down things the flap when they run), push up bras (with player number on one cup), the flimsy-est half assed shoulder pad decoration you could imagine, and gym shoes running around playing football. That’s it. Oh yeah, “helmets” that look like something a 6 year old would wear while riding her bike (that has training wheels still attached). To their credit the “helmets” had chin straps and clear plastic visors like ones you might see in a chemistry lab.
These athletes were serious as a heart attack about what they were doing. Of course the game was a “playoff” being held in a pint sized arena in LAS VEGAS (imagine that!), but the size mattered not to the players. It had real turf, end-zones on a fifty yard field, and walls on the out-of-bounds edges. Walls that got slammed into by women running at full tilt. This was no “touch” football. It was full contact, brutal, katy-barred-the-door action. It was Roller Derby only football. I found it hard to believe no one got killed!
There were the usual distressed coaches on the sidelines (men with those silly head sets on), umpires throwing flags at the appropriate times, and the can’t-do-without advertising on every possible surface a camera might chance to point to. The man-filled crowd went bananas whenever some gal from one team (the LV Temptations) clobbered another gal on the other team (the LA Sin ~ gads) using her PANTIES as the tool to tackle her (this was not a punishable offense from the looks of things). Never had I seen more bouncing flesh running around making “big plays” in one place. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, there were the usual talking heads announcing each and every play as if it was indeed the Souper Bowl itself.
My husband, his son, his Dad, and some stray man I had never seen before in my life all sat in awe of the event. Even my neutered tom cat was in attendance. All eyes were glued to the old Sony.
They were glad to see me only because I came bearing those traditional football classics… beer and chips. Other than that it was total concentration on the game. Comments and cheers were made on good plays just like it was real. Of course the DVR was engaged more than once (“Did you see that interception?” ~ yeah, right)
They claimed to have never seen it before that day. I had to wonder just how they found out it existed?! I didn’t ask. Some things are better left alone.
It was pitiful. It was appalling. I was as spellbound as they were.
© Copyright 2012 Leegay, All rights Reserved. Written For: Truth In Decorating