So, the Stupid Bowl was last week. On Sunday, I think. Or, thereabouts.
Olive and Emily were slightly confused about it. Here's a little conversation I overheard them sharing.
"What's up with this football thing?" Olive asked Emily. They were both in front of the TV (and subsequently moved as soon as they saw me coming with the camera - do your dogs do that?), as a sports report was on.
"It's the way the humans work up an appetite," Emily answered.
"This weekend," the sportscaster was announcing, "Peyton Manning will do this and that and theotherthing for the amazing Broncos..." I guess that's what he said. I don't know. I don't watch sports. I sure don't watch football. And don't write me nasty notes. It's a free country. I don't have to like football.
"They chase a funny ball around a muddy field, usually in the snow or rain - for some reason they like being out in bad weather, chasing this funny looking ball around," Emily was explaining. "It makes them hungry and they order pizza and wings afterwards."
I do not know where she got that idea from. I mean, everyone knows you order wings and pizza during the game.
"It's a strange looking ball," Olive was saying. "Why do they keep throwing it away? If they really want it so bad, why don't they keep it?" She was squinting her one good eye and I could tell she was really trying to figure this out.
"They want the other humans to jump on it," Emily told her. "So they can jump on them. They like jumping on each other until the one on the bottom yells Omaha! I think."
"Oh." Olive tilted her head a bit. "I used to do that when I was a puppy. Are all these humans too young to know better?"
"No," Emily put her head between her paws. "They should know better. They're grown men. Like Tom."
Olive turned her head completely around, well, halfway. You know. She couldn't swivel it all the way around. Only Linda Blair can do that, as anybody who grew up in the 70s knows... but you get my drift. She swiveled her head around towards Emily and blinked.
"Our Tom?" she said. "He plays football?"
"I don't know," Emily sat up suddenly. She looked across the room at Tom, who was glued to the TV news report - I mean, he was intent on it. He wasn't glued to it. Why do I have to explain all of this to you? Didn't you go to sixth grade?
"Maybe he does, but I've never seen him play football."
"Who would he jump on?" Olive asked. "And, where is the funny ball they use? I only see the round fuzzy ones he sometimes throws in the backyard. I don't get that either. Is it like football? Is he waiting for someone to come and jump on it, so he can jump on them?"
Emily paused. She thought for a moment. "I think maybe that's it!" she exclaimed. "I sure don't see any other reason for him to throw that round yellow fuzzy ball. He once indicated that he wanted ME to go get it...but, I know better than that."
"What do you mean?" Olive asked.
"Well," Emily looked closely at her, "if you give in to them once, they want you to do it again and again. And, I am worried now that he wanted me to go jump on the ball so he could jump on me! Golly, I'm glad I just gave him my best, 'you've got to be kidding me' look. I mean, really..."
"Yeah," Olive said. "Really. He'd hurt himself if he jumped on you. You don't offer much cushion, Emily."
"Hmph," Emily mumbled. She lay back down and closed her eyes. "All this talk of balls is making me sleepy. All that work for nothing."
Olive nodded. "If the balls were made of meatballs, I would understand it more," she said.
Then she curled up in a ball and went to sleep herself.
And, I have to say, they couldn't have described the game of stupid ball better. I mean, football. Which is stupid. I didn't say that... Olive and Emily did.
*** no animals, footballs or humans were hurt in the writing of this post and if anyone is crying over the stupid bowl game, it's not our fault - we are still trying to figure out where the bowl comes in - is it for the wings?