Flying Flags

by Bethany Maines

I had to laugh when I read Debra Goldstein’s post yesterday about football being “only a game”.  I live in Washington State, which, in case you’re living in a hole, is home of the Seahawks, contenders the upcoming football high-holy day – the Super Bowl.  Although, even when living in a hole, I’m fairly certain that you probably felt the Beast Quake or possibly Richard Sherman dropped by to tell you how awesome he is, and then probably stuck around to make pointedly blunt statements about the corruption in the NFL.  Football may be only game, but tis the season for every football fan everywhere to lose their dang minds.

As I’m only an occasional football watcher I find most of the fan-actions a bit mystifying.  Twelfth man flags decorate every building, a local tattoo parlor is offering a 12’s tattoo special and last game against the Packers the Seattle City Council banned cheese from the premises.  Like Debra, I say, “But it’s only a game!”  Not that I say that very loudly – my husband would glare at me. 

But also like Debra, I identify with the way fans pour over every detail, dissect plays, and watch every report on the subject.  A fan, no matter the subject, wants to know all about the thing they love.  So I don’t wave a twelfth man flag, but the books on my shelf tell their own tales (pun intended).  Anyone visiting my house knows where I stand on the topic of Lord of the Rings (pro) and the work of cover artist Thomas Canty (also pro) and Tintin (highly pro). I don’t have any tattoos, but I can quote The Walrus and The Carpenter – it’s tattooed on my brain.  And as for cheese… no, sorry, I have nothing there. Cheese is never banned at my house and neither are books. 

Am I the only “12^th Man” uber book fan out there?  What “flags” are flying on your bookshelf?

It's Only a Game by Debra H. Goldstein

It’s Only a Game by Debra H. Goldstein

My husband’s blood runs Crimson.  Nick Saban’s signed picture hangs in a prominent place in his man cave, which doubles as my den since we downsized. Signed University of Alabama footballs and Bear Bryant memorabilia also grace the room’s shelves.

Just as he deems these men to be G-ds, my husband religiously attends games or is glued to the television screen cheering his team on or bemoaning bad umpire calls. If the Alabama team wins, he takes pleasure in another week of bragging rights, but if, as they did on New Year’s Day, they get blown out of the water, he mutters for a few minutes and then philosophically notes, “It’s Only a Game.”

Many of our friends will be in mourning until next year’s football season.  They still spend hours dissecting the bad plays or interceptions that “lost the game.” They talk about how difficult it is to be a “marked” team because of having had a high ranking throughout the season.  Their sorrow will be tempered by verbally analyzing critical plays at parties and watching DVR’d games to relive the high moments of the season.

There are other people in our state who mourn in a more aggressive manner.  Newspaper stories of fights prompted by insults, stealing of mascots, and destruction of property are commonplace. Why?  After all, “It’s Only a Game.”

As a Johnny-come-lately to the writing world, I am in awe of many writers.  Their books are on display on my upstairs bookshelves, much as Nick Saban mementos are downstairs.  Throughout the years their works entertained, educated, and engaged me. Now, as I have met many, my respect for their repeated generosity and kindnesses to other writers constantly grows, especially while watching each struggle with juggling time to write, marketing and selling enough books to get another contract, handling today’s social media demands, and living balanced lives.  The reality is that most don’t “win” every day, but the successful ones handle their losses in a similar manner.  Rather than dwelling on the set-back or sabotaging their competition, they understand the defeat of the moment reflects that “It’s Only a Game.”