Nothing beats it. Watching a football game by the candlelight as you and your man-friends all gather around the huge screen, that doesn’t mean anything about your penis size, and drink a couple of fermented wheat drinks.
An American classic.
Unless you’ve never watched a football game before.
My friend, Johnathon Football (no relation) came over my house the other day and had some choice quotes about the perennial American tradition of football watching. He was not familiar with the traditions as he is famed geologist William Perry’s (no relation) son, a geologist famous for his 20 year long study of the pedosphere (soil science) in which him in his family lived underneath sedimentary deposits-in essence they lived under a rock.
This is what Jonathon had to say.
Jonathan: “Oh I get it, those old white guys are all really excited about what the young black guys are doing with their bodies.”
On gameday uniforms:
(He said this to me, Robert, as I wore my favorite Tom Brady uniform)
Jonathan: “Brady? Why did you steal the monogrammed shirt of a Mr. Brady you inconsiderate punk. I know you are not a Brady. You are Robert. And you are wearing a lying shirt”
Jonathan: “I like how this makes me feel! It is weird that we feel better about the game as we drink more but the game hasn’t really gotten any better”
Jonathon: “Rob! Your wife is wearing the same pants as the football players! It is like your lying monogrammed shirt.”
Me: “Haha no Jonathan Football, my wife’s pants are yoga pants, the players are wearing, football pants”
Jonathon: “Tight black skintight elastic pants aren’t yoga pants?”
Me: “Well yes-“
Jonathon: “ Why is that grizzled voice yelling at me so aggressively about an F-150. The graphics are changing so much and he just keeps on informing me about what real men do at work??!”
On hot wings:
Jonaton: “ Why does it feel like my mouth is being stung by ants?? You do this on purpose? Maybe because you are sad you killed all of these chickens”
After debating about whether you could trip or not on the yellow line on the field Jonathon left in confusion, back to the murky depths of his earthworm infested bachelor penthouse under a rock. He seemed happy at the end though so I will invite him over for thanksgiving in a couple of weeks, or as he calls it, Big bird murder day.