February 6th 2005
Utball, utball, Awa Toom, Awa Toom!
Today is Super Bowl Sunday. We are attending a party where the only rule is that every guest must wear a sports jersey of some kind. It’s likely that none of us will really watch the game—I believe we all deeply dislike the Eagles, and none of us have any real love for the Pats.
But it’s Super Bowl Sunday, so we have to party.
Last year, Mr. Angst and I were getting up at 4 am, Italian time, to prepare for our very early back-to-the-US-end-of-the-honeymoon flight. He was in the shower while I watched the game-winning field goal. We both missed Janet’s boob. Italian commentary on American football is funny. I didn’t really understand any of it, but it was early in the morning and I was deliriously tired, so I recall it being very funny.
Finally, the title of this post is a reference to one of my sports-nut cousins: when he was very little and my dad would go to my aunt and uncle’s house to watch football, this cousin of mine would go crazy. He knew that, since my dad was there, football would be on the TV and everyone would be yelling and jumping around and having lots of fun. So as soon as he’d see my dad, he’d yell, “Utball, utball, Awa Toom!” (Football, football, Uncle Tim!)
Damn, that’s cute.
(And thanks to E. Spat for directing me to the Puppy Bowl. I’m getting a little mushy right now. Mr. Angst might have to drag me out of the house when it’s time to leave.)
