One For the Ages

... at least during the NFLiscene epoch.

Miami Dolphins versus Pittsburgh Steelers on Monday Night Football, the last Monday in November. Why bother watching? I still have a hate on for the Steelers for beating out the Raiders and Oilers so often in the mid to late 1970s. And the Dolphins are so awful this year, they are still winless. So, why bother watching?

I like to tune into the beginning of the telecast to catch Hank's song and whatever funny opening features or remarks there are. Well, this one was extraordinary. It was nearly time for the opening kickoff and there were no fans in the seats at Heinz Field in Pittsburgh. I mean, the stands were empty! I have been to Heinz Field and it is a lovely venue, so I knew that it wasn't due to discomfort that the place was deserted.

Because of lightning accompanying the heavy rain, fans were encouraged to take shelter in the concourse. It was announced that the game would be delayed a half hour. In the meantime, groundskeepers attempted to repaint lines that had disappeared when the tarp had been removed from the newly sodded field. I wondered why a painter would suddenly stop painting for a five yard stretch as he went down the sidelines with his machine. When the camera zoomed closer, I could see that the unpainted segment of field was several inches deep of water.

I was taking a slight perverse interest in the game in that the Dolphins were still winless, and I would love to see them match the record of futility of the 1976 expansion Tampa Bay Buccaneers, who went winless their first season. On this night, as I continued to watch the Steelers and Dolphins slug it out in the quagmire, I was amazed that nobody could score, not even a field goal. Half time and three quarter time both came and left with no scoring.

The announcers kept the audience up to date on the most recent games that had been scoreless this late in the game. I was fixated to my tv screen, torn between hoping for a scoreless tie resulting in overtime, with a possible overtime tie final result, and Miami maintaining its perfect winless season.

At last, I had to content myself with the Steelers finishing it off with 17 seconds left, a hard fought 3 to nothing victory. The game didn't break the record for longest scoreless game, and there weren't many brilliant offensive plays, but Miami winlessness continued, and the defensive drama in the rain and mud was certainly one for the ages.

Thank you, Ottawa Renegades

... for disbanding when the Saskatchewan Roughriders were bad enough or lucky enough to choose Kerry Joseph in the dispersal draft. And now we have the Grey Cup.

WELL, RUN!....YOU RUN WHEN YOU'RE PLAYING FOOTBALL!

...That was what my father would yell at me when he and I were trying to chase a farm animal on foot. My father actually loved me very much. And he had it exactly right. I did run when I played football. It's just that when a bull had escaped the friendly confines of the Luther corral system, I wasn't always sure which direction to run to help retrieve the critter.

My father loved football. As far as I know he never played football. At least, not with me. As I played around with my football by myself in our yard, my dad would come home at supper time and park his tractor at the far end of the yard. As he walked past me, I would toss him the ball, and he would deflect it back at me with an awkward two-handed motion. Of course, he had a big grin on his face. However, it was busy season, and he had no time to play catch with me.

One particular autumn we had a lot of hay and straw bales to haul from the fields to the yard for winter. On the Thanksgiving long weekend, my dad was pleased when he and I were able to haul 1000 bales on Saturday and another 1000 on Monday. As it turned out, we were still hauling bales when Grey Cup Saturday rolled around in late November.

We worked like busy beavers that morning and into the afternoon. Then, at game time, Dad and I suddenly stopped hauling bales, and he and I sat in our work clothes in the living room for the next 2.5 hours, watching the CFL championship game. I know that he knew how badly I wanted to watch this game. I know he wanted to see it, too, but he maybe would have skipped watching it if his bale hauling partner had been some hired hand instead of his own boy.

It was pretty obvious: my father loved football and my father loved me. What a great combination.