The Champions

There's no crying in baseball!

We all know that quotable nugget from the movie A League of Their Own, and it can be applied to many situations, but what about football? There should absolutely, positively never be tears in such a sport as football.

Unless you're me. Sometimes football is just so beautiful, I can't choke back my tears.

This past weekend I finally got football fever for the first time in a long time, and it wasn't because of the Arizona Cardinals who stink this year, or the Miami Dolphins (I rarely get to see their games), or those ancient teams the Chicago Bears and Detroit Lions. It was because of a team called the Blue Bombers, and they don't even play tackle.

My son Berto's flag football team had their last game of the year on Saturday. I had yet to see one of his games due to conflict with my youngest son's naptime. And truthfully, though silently, I balked at going on Saturday, because there were Christmas boxes piled in our home, my husband's work party to attend early that evening, and plenty of housework to do in preparation for the babysitter. But I knew I had to go. There had been several disappointing games for my son's team; he had struggled his first couple times as quarterback, a position he's passionate about, but he really wanted me to come see him play.

So I put a cap on my unshowered head, rounded up my younger children, and headed out with my honor as a mother. After all, you should be there for your kid if you can.

And what a sight to see beneath that unblemished Arizona sky! With the thrill I got and the investment I felt in watching the game unfold, I couldn't believe I had never come before, and to heck with naptime! There were plenty of eight to ten-year-olds on that field running their cleats off, but as I bounced my way from the playground, where my youngest three played, to the field, my eyes were on my son. I felt pride at simple things: the authoritative way Berto shouted "Hike!" and the fact that as quarterback he had the ball hiked to him in different form than his teammates to better facilitate his passes. I saw him throw a beautiful long pass. Sure, it wasn't caught by the receiver, but it had a lovely, smooth arc. And when I witnessed one of his two touchdown passes as QB and cheered as he ran one into the end zone as RB, my eyes misted over and my chest locked up in emotion as I shouted and applauded.

There's no crying in baseball or football...if you're playing the game. But if you're the proud mama? All's fair in love and score.