It’s not yet football season, but I’m already hearing rumblings, and I’ve seen news bits on the the Rams cheerleaders.  But since, to my mind, all professional sports is of a fabric, some worse than others, I thought I’d post this essay I wrote some time ago, with modifications.
     An acquaintance asked me a while ago if I intended to watch the play-offs and I responded–automatically and immediately–with “what play-offs?”
     Such honesty can get you seriously dissed in this country.  But, yes, Virginia, there are people in the United States who know virtually nothing about pro sports.  Or semi-pro.  Or amateur.  Nothing about sports.
     When the Cardinals (my home team) are in the play-offs or whatever, heading for a pennant–which they do more regularly than I care to recall–I suffer at work, because suddenly none of the radios are playing music, but carrying the do-or-die commentary on the day’s Game.  People move about rivetted.  They have a glazed look in their eyes.  I’ve seen that look in others–religious fanatics in the grip of glossolalia.
     I don’t get it.
     No, wait.  Let me be clearer.  I don’t GET IT!
     Is it possible to grow up in this culture and not have an appreciation for athletics?  Sure, but that’s not what I don’t get. And for the most part, I’m not sure most sports fans have such an appreciation themselves.  I mean, I don’t think all those people who tuned in to watch the Team of the Month take another Super Bowl …