I love this game!

I love football. NFL football, that is. I say this somewhat apologetically, I suppose, mostly because of what it’s become in recent years. And it took me long enough to arrive at this conclusion, which surprised me at first, though it’s been in my life forever.

I fondly remember my dad watching football when I was a kid. Though I never really watched it with him, and was more or less annoyed by it at the time, the sound of a game on from the next room, or elsewhere in the house, is incredibly distinctive and comforting to me as an adult. It brings me a Warm & Fuzzy feeling because of my Ward & June Clever upbringing. Two sister friends of mine also have strong feelings when recalling their father watching football (from the next room), but they were grounded all the time, so hearing football just reminds them of that.

I’m fascinated at how the recollections of a similar occurrence can incite such opposite reactions from different people.

I grew up in Texas, and into a band geek who twirled her flag during high school football halftimes. I understand every bit of Friday Night Lights, regardless of the fact that I wasn’t a football player. All it really takes to understand that setting is having lived in a town in Texas with any remote amount of exposure to the game itself. You didn’t have to look very hard for it: it was omnipresent. It was simply built into the culture.

By the time I went to college, the Cowboys were on the brink of what would be their dynasty era of the nineties. The friends I made at school were no strangers to football either. At that point, with their help, it reached a new level for me. I had never actually followed the game before. I didn’t need to. Even in high school when I was in the thick of it all, I was always otherwise entertained. And no one had ever been able to explain it to me and make it stick. It was there, many moons ago, in my sophomore year in college, that my obsession began.

We were at a game at our home field Homer Bryce Stadium, which must have been an occasion in and of itself because we hardly ever did that. I asked someone in the group to break down the rules for me. My friend Jen piped up, “Well basically, you have four chances to go ten yards”, and something inside my head went “DING”. The guy behind me said he had never heard it explained so well. To this day, when I have the rare opportunity to enlighten others on the subject, I use this explanation, and it will traditionally provoke the same response.

Instead of getting involved with our college team, we went right to the pros. After all, I don’t think we were beaming with loud Texas pride having to root for a team called the Lumberjacks. “Axe’em Jax!” No, I don’t think so. But Texas is a sport-obsessed state, and I think it’s safe to assume football tops the list. We went to school between Dallas and Houston, which made most of our college population a fan of either the Cowboys or the Oilers (when they were still based in Houston, of course). To say the two were rival teams is a staggering understatement. They were the most in-your-face, finger-pointin’, mud-slingin’, shit-talkin’ packs in the bunch, right up there with the Eagles, Giants, Redskins, and Steelers. They hated each other. And that made it interesting.

I will always remember watching football in the dorms with what comprised the usual slew of us, namely my friend, Syd, one of the two perma-grounded sisters mentioned above. Her dad was a long-time Cowboys fan, and hence so was she. It was hilarious how she used to scream at that damn TV. She knew no mercy. “Go, go, GO! Break his legs!!!” It used to confuse the guys how this seemingly innocent female (albeit strong-willed and boisterous) person could be so brutal. After a while, “break his legs” may as well have become her middle name.

Years have gone by, but I’m still a full-fledged addict. The problem with that is that I don’t live in Texas anymore, so it’s not quite as fun. Granted, of course there are football fans in Washington State, not to mention an NFL team in Seattle, but there seems to be far more choice here to grab one’s attention. There are also the University of Washington Huskies, whose arch rivals are also a Washington team, and action that tends to purloin top billing in this town.

I think the high point of my football-lovin’ experience, at least in the trivia sense, came a few years back in my office pool. There were about twenty people involved. On most weekends, the winner would be decided by Sunday evening, but the closest weeks would go to Monday night. On one such occasion, it came down to me and one other guy. I ended up taking the pot. It wasn't that much, but it had nothing to do with the money. It was all about the pride. I’m just a girl, and I just kicked all your asses!

Best Dave Ever

Labor Day weekend
September 2, 2006
Dave Matthews Band @ the Gorge Amphitheatre
George, WA

It was beautiful, the temperature was perfect, the sky was bluer than blue, and it was a great day for a road trip! Traffic wasn't even that bad, which is a rare bonus. Making the trip with Drew for the first time called my attention to some of the aspects of the trip that I've almost stopped noticing: how the air cools when crossing over the Cascades, how everything is so lush and green, the indescribable freshness in the air. We drove the whole way with the windows down and the sunroof open. My hair (newly chopped) was gleefully flying all over the place. And I was singing my heart out.

When we got there, we headed right to the cocktail garden and promptly did tequila shots and downed a couple beers. We were content sitting on the lawn in there while the opening band (O.A.R.) performed on the main stage.

Right after sunset, we headed out to the grounds. This time, a first for me, we headed to the seated section right down in front. Section A, Row 17, Seats 3 and 4: they were great! No obstructed view as feared. As velvety night filled the sky, the zillion stars were alight and the air was indelibly arid with bliss. The backdrop of the Columbia River gorge has got to be one of the world’s most perfect natural amphitheatres. It’s one of the band’s favorite venues to play, and another reason I feel so lucky for the opportunity to come delve into it each summer.

I took diligent notes throughout the show, so I would have a record of the entire set from beginning to encore. That, and being there with Dave-virgin Drew, made me aware of the fact that I was able to identify most every song within the first beat or two.

I’ve seen The Dave Matthews Band roughly ten times over the past ten years, though I've admittedly lost count. On every single prior occasion, I was just happy to be there at all, and sat contentedly in the grass, far from the stage. Drew has higher standards. He said, "If you have to use binoculars to see who you're going to see, then you're sitting too far away." He gave me that experience this year, to not need binoculars. He wanted me to SEE Dave. And saw him I did. As never before. With his adorable dancy steps, with his wife and twin daughters hanging out off to the side of the stage. Now how can I possibly go back to the lawn after this?

It’s not unusual for me to get weepy during a DMB show, so I think the notable thing about it this time around was the sheer number of times it happened. It’s embarrassing enough to admit, so I’ll save the detail. Suffice it to say I was moved on many levels that day.

The drive back was just what I needed to cap off the wonderful day. Drew slept during the bulk of it as I belted out tunes form Under the Table and Crash. I had all kinds of things working for me: the brisk air, the red bull, and mostly the electricity of the music coursing through my body, shocking my soul…