roseembolism | That Christmas Spirit

...and I'm glad we went, even though RXM and I DID end up sleeping in an icebox cleverly disguised as a camper. Hard single bunks turned out to be a greater nuisance than I thought, including the realization that exposing my face to the outside air was actually painful. It was a relief the next day to be able to sleep in the guest room that was merely frigid, and had a huge warm soft bed.

But I digress. The important thing is that after a mere 23,842 hours of continuous Christmas Story reruns, Dad-to-Be switched channels to the football games, which we watched for the rest of the day; he puffing on his cigar like a walrus crossed with the Marlboro Man, me playing with my PDA...but I digress.

The IMPORTANT thing is that we watched football, which is a terminally Christmassy thing to do. Not that I'm a fan; I can't take the sport seriously, even leaving aside that it's a bunch of men running around in shiny tights. The start-and-stop nature of football ruins any sport of suspense for me- "He has the ball, he's on the 30 yard line, he passes, he catches, FUMBLES-...and we're going to stop the game and catch our breath."

Now rugby, there's a MANS sport. "He dropped the ball- it's still moving and nobody's dead, KEEP PLAYING!" None of this stopping the game to make huddles. The pity is I don't get to watch enough rugby, or it's cousin Australian Rules Football. Instead I watch a sport that has almost as many interruptions as pro basketball, where the players where ridiculous overprotective outfits, and still ends up with the score tied 7-7 when it goes into overtime.

But pro football is perfect for Christmas. It goes with Christmas like Christmas dinners with the relatives, and driving around to look at Christmas light displays. I can't quite say WHY the pageantry of pro football suits Christmas, but it does, as the perfect capper to a Christmas breakfast. It may be something encoded into my genes by my father, using cigarettes and booze to alter my prenatal genes.

So sitting with my Dad-to-Be, half paying attention to the game gave me a strange nostalgic feeling, of half remembered previous Christmases that had football games playing in the background, my father sitting in his chair watching them while my mother called him to come unwrap gifts. It's nice to know some things aren't quite lost with the change of times. And that sentimental feeling is a big part of Christmas.