oh, sadness

I must remind myself never to watch play-off football games where I have an interest in the outcome, especially while I am knitting. My natural anxiety at knitting some new pattern, or one that requires some degree of concentration on my part, only enhances my emotional response to bad news on the field.

Excitement about football comes naturally. Some future archeologist will discover that the religion of Texas in the 1960s and 1970s was football. I doubt if I ever entered a house on Sundays during that period when a television set was not tuned to the Dallas Cowboys football games. My father took me to Baylor games when I was quite young. You understand the rules, a friend asked me the other day somewhat incredulously. Well, yes.

In this community obsessed with sports, the Colts have played well enough to make many local fans forget that there is a basketball season underway. Probably the ups and downs of the Pacers this season has helped, too.

But folk in my adopted town were quite excited about the football team. And now, hopes are dashed. We talk of other things. I am hearing little discussion about what happened. Stiff upper lip and change the subject.

On Sunday, as we knitted at friend Cassie's home (I was snuggled between her Rhodesian Ridgebacks who mostly slept through the game), I tried to remind myself that this is a game, that these millionaires and near-millionaires are working, and they will be paid, regardless. Yes, but ...

On Sunday, I learned to pick up stitches and to move selected stitches over (I'm making a felted purse for a female work colleague), a project I started last winter but had left in the knitting bag after getting close to the parts where I had to do more than just knit.

The bag is going well.