Blasphemy on Iowa's bye week
Though this may sound blasphemous, it is the truth: today is the first Saturday in six weeks that I have not attended a Hawkeye football game — and I could not be happier.
Iowa’s bye week has arrived and I am relishing every moment of not having to deal with the enjoyable hassle of attending a home game. I did not have to get up early (which for me is before nine o’clock on Saturdays) to get ready and head to the stadium, a trip usually accompanied by the dull headache of dehydration from you know what. Instead, I woke around ten o’clock, took a leisurely stroll down to the farmer’s market to return a jar of jam, rebuffed Sweets’ latest sales pitch for camping tonight, and then walked back in time to see Lee Corso don Cocky the Gamecock’s mascot head and hold a real, live gamecock. Then it was on to the glories of watching the early games on TV — for the first time all season! I have been lounging in front of the TV and flipping between the Northwestern-Penn State and Michigan State-Indiana games ever since.
Of course I love college football, but I think I would rather watch games on TV than attend them in person. (And what a costly revelation, too, since I shelled out $323 for a season ticket.) It is no wonder given the fact I find no interest in tailgating or drinking before games and find TV timeouts almost unbearable, despite all the stupid filler shown on “Hawkvision.” I watch the man in the red hat and oven mitt (why the oven mitt?) on the far end of the field and wait and wait and wait for him to slowly back onto the sideline and motion to the referees that the commercials are finally over. It is one of those rare moments when I have no patience; I find myself anxiously awaiting his next interruption instead of enjoying the game. All this while I sit in the north stand, jammed into my little space of metal bench like a canned sardine between my dad and the guy to my left, a knee in my back and my knees in the back of the people sitting in the row ahead. It is enough to make a man claustrophobic. (My dad, on the other hand, is claustrophobic and I have no clue how he can handle it.) And then there is the woman with the gravely voice who sits somewhere behind us and slowly and annoyingly yells “DOUB-BLE Uuuuuuuuu!” during the I-O-W-A chant even though we sit in the “O” section. Then my feet usually fall asleep because the way I need to sit cuts off all blood circulation below my knees. Sometimes all I want to do is go home and watch the rest of the game on TV.
But I do not have to deal with that this week, or the week after. Next Saturday I can watch the Hawks on TV in the comfort of my own home with a beer in hand and room to stretch out. It will be awesome.
Iowa’s bye week has arrived and I am relishing every moment of not having to deal with the enjoyable hassle of attending a home game. I did not have to get up early (which for me is before nine o’clock on Saturdays) to get ready and head to the stadium, a trip usually accompanied by the dull headache of dehydration from you know what. Instead, I woke around ten o’clock, took a leisurely stroll down to the farmer’s market to return a jar of jam, rebuffed Sweets’ latest sales pitch for camping tonight, and then walked back in time to see Lee Corso don Cocky the Gamecock’s mascot head and hold a real, live gamecock. Then it was on to the glories of watching the early games on TV — for the first time all season! I have been lounging in front of the TV and flipping between the Northwestern-Penn State and Michigan State-Indiana games ever since.
Of course I love college football, but I think I would rather watch games on TV than attend them in person. (And what a costly revelation, too, since I shelled out $323 for a season ticket.) It is no wonder given the fact I find no interest in tailgating or drinking before games and find TV timeouts almost unbearable, despite all the stupid filler shown on “Hawkvision.” I watch the man in the red hat and oven mitt (why the oven mitt?) on the far end of the field and wait and wait and wait for him to slowly back onto the sideline and motion to the referees that the commercials are finally over. It is one of those rare moments when I have no patience; I find myself anxiously awaiting his next interruption instead of enjoying the game. All this while I sit in the north stand, jammed into my little space of metal bench like a canned sardine between my dad and the guy to my left, a knee in my back and my knees in the back of the people sitting in the row ahead. It is enough to make a man claustrophobic. (My dad, on the other hand, is claustrophobic and I have no clue how he can handle it.) And then there is the woman with the gravely voice who sits somewhere behind us and slowly and annoyingly yells “DOUB-BLE Uuuuuuuuu!” during the I-O-W-A chant even though we sit in the “O” section. Then my feet usually fall asleep because the way I need to sit cuts off all blood circulation below my knees. Sometimes all I want to do is go home and watch the rest of the game on TV.
But I do not have to deal with that this week, or the week after. Next Saturday I can watch the Hawks on TV in the comfort of my own home with a beer in hand and room to stretch out. It will be awesome.
