So
I didn’t really watch the Super Bowl this year. Again. I mean, I sorta did –
but really for the commercials(which were disappointing, for the most part).
It’s been that way for a while. And though I would have horrified my
eight-year-old self by not watching, I still felt obligated to go to the Super
Bowl party when Mike and Kasey invited me over.
“C’mon,
Pete! Everybody else from the office is coming over. It’ll be fun.”
“Sure,
okay….I like snacks.”
I
understand the game, of course. It’s different that when I cared about it, but
still recognizable. Offenses still score, special teams is overlooked, and
defenses knock the crap out of people. That’s really why I didn’t want to
watch.
It
was in high school, during the rivalry game down in Henryetta. It was late in
the second quarter, just before halftime. The Knights were leading our Eagles 8-6,
and Morris had the ball on our 47 yard line. Second down, six yards to go. Our
quarterback took the snap, handed off to my brother Nathan. He ran to the left,
gaining about four yards before getting crushed by two black-and-gold jerseys.
You could hear the hit, it was that
hard. And then an unnatural snapping noise… The stadium got instantly quiet; it
was spooky. They called out the ambulance and rushed him off to St. Francis in
Tulsa. Dad went with him in the ambulance, Mom went in our car. They forgot I
was there; heck, I forgot I was there. The second half took an eternity to
finish, we ended up winning, I think I read in the paper. I wandered past the
bleachers on the visitors’ side of the stadium and sat staring into space past
the darkened baseball diamond. My girlfriend Samantha and her dad Keith just
sat there with me for a while. It was a companionable silence. I rode back to
Morris with her family; Mrs. Allan put Sammy’s little siblings to bed, and then
Keith, Sammy and I headed to the hospital, where we spent the night half-dozing
in alarm in the cold, unforgiving waiting room.
Nathan’s
leg was shattered, his hip was cracked, and he’s had no feeling in his foot
ever since because of the nerve damage. He can walk again, but it's halting; and
it expends a ton of energy. We’ve talked about football occasionally; he wishes
he could have played again. I asked him why, and he just explained it away by
pulling up Garth Brooks’ song “Rodeo,” saying it was same kind of thing. I don’t
quite understand that. But then, I never really wanted to play.
I
was 14 then, so it must be about eleven years ago…crazy how time passes. It
feels like last night, sometimes. But I guess it was just one of those landmark
moments of growing up…they just have a ton of impact, and hit you extra hard.
If I was better with words I could explain it better. Anyway, that’s why I
don’t care much for the game. If somebody asked why, then I’d try to explain,
but the only thing people do is give you a funny look. And it was good to see
Peyton Manning win another Super Bowl, I guess. Now, is it time for the NASCAR
season to kick off in Daytona?.
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