How a Football Game is Like Going to Church

Josh and me taking a selfie with Kirk Herbstreit

Sports Illustrated recently conducted a poll asking football fans what football is more important than.  Over 26% said football was more important than religion.  Twenty.six.percent.  Y'all.  A quarter of the population.  

I witnessed this first hand yesterday.  

  

I managed to snag tickets to this year's rivalry game between Ohio State and Michigan.  I have been to other OSU games, but I had not witnessed this storied rivalry in person.  I had debated for awhile about who to take with me, when I remembered the fact I have two brothers.  The only dilemma being I had one ticket.  I realized this could get dicey.  I tried to play it as objectively as I could, texting both of them asking if they had previously been to the OSU-Michigan game before.  One had, the other hadn't.  Perfect.  Problem solved without resorting to a coin toss or a domestic dispute.    

We hopped on an early bus down to campus, sparing ourselves the hassle of parking.  We wandered over to the set of Game Day and then headed to St. John Arena for the Skull Session.  We people watched for awhile before heading to our seats, settling in for what proved to be an epic game.  

As we sat watching the game, crammed shoulder to shoulder with a record crowd of 110,045 people, I had the sudden and involuntary realization that going to a football game is a lot like going to church.  I know, an odd connection to make.  And probably a slightly irreverent one, but roll with me here.  Allow me to present to you this tongue-in-cheek list of similarities I reflected on yesterday amidst first downs (even if one of them was highly disputed) and touchdowns:  

1) There are a lot of lost people at church and at a football games.  My brother and I watched one poor soul go looking for his seat a few rows below us.  He started to climb over people, realizing that none of them looked familiar, and then he realized he wasn't in the right place.  He stood in the aisle, looking up and down the section, pulled out his ticket stub to verify, muttering under his breath, and he still couldn't figure it out.  So then he just stood there and drank his beer for a few, acting like he knew exactly what he was doing.  I'm not sure if he ever found his seat or not. 

2) You get the occasional unsolicited hug and handshake.  My brother sat next to a slightly tipsy young alum who felt the need to side hug my brother in celebration of Ohio State scoring, with the occasional slap on the back.  I don't know that my brother was a fan of those moments.  I'm also not a fan of the the blasted "turn and greet your neighbor" moments at church.  Thankfully my church has done away with them and I will be forever grateful.  I just think they are awkward and I groan out loud every time I am subjected to them.  Just ask anybody sitting around me at the time.  

3) Sometimes tacos get served at church events and dinners.  Taco definitely got served yesterday.

4) There's a lot of standing and then sitting, and then standing again, and then sitting again.  'Bout the time I sat down yesterday at the game is about the time everyone around me felt the need to stand up, so up I went.  And then we'd all sit down.  And then somebody would make a play, so then we'd all stand up.  If you've been to church, you know exactly what I'm talking about.  

5) Group singing.  At football games we feel the need to sing things like "Hang on Sloopy."  No different than church where we sing the same song on refrain for about 4 verses.

6) Praying. Lots and lots and lots of praying.  And then some more prayers.  God clearly heard the prayers of Buckeye fans yesterday.  

7) Running around and waving flags.  If you're a little more on the charismatic side of faith, you'll get this one.  At the start of every Ohio State game, they send their cheerleaders and pep squad running around the field with flags.  We also add fireworks at our games, and I don't know of any churches that have those, but they should maybe consider adding those sometime.  Make for some real serious moments with the Spirit.  

8) You give tithes and offerings.  At football games, this means paying $9 for a cup of hot chocolate.  Which also happened to be the same price of a premium beer.  Welcome to a college football game in November in a cold northern state.  You'll definitely have to pass the offering bags to be able to afford this one.

9) It's a pain to get in and out of the parking lot.  You know you've been to that church where they have their own cop stationed out in the road, just to direct traffic and get everybody in and out safely.  At least we don't pay to pay $20 to park, unlike at football games.  My brother and I did spot a sign for parking spots down near the stadium.  For $100.  All proceeds went to charity, of course.  

10) We've got a band leading worship.  Ours just does it with a little more flare than most bands.

11) There's lots of hand-raising and waving.  My brother and I started to take stock of the varieties of waves and fist-shaking that occur in a game.   You've got the windshield wipers.  You've got the awkward beauty-pageant style waves.  You've got the abrupt wavers whose arms suddenly bolt into the air like they've been shocked with a bolt of electricity.  Tim Hawkins' hand-raising video could easily apply to football games. 

12) There are occasional outbursts of spontaneous yelling.  At football games it's usually the f-bomb when our team screws up.  One guy behind us felt the need to yell at Urban Meyer a lot.  "Open up the playbook, Urban!"  "Turn the page of the playbook, Urban!"  He just kept saying that over and over again.  I kind of wanted to tell him to come up with a new line.  Yell all you want, but geez, at least change it up every now and then.  At church it's usually "amen" and "preach it."

13) Sometimes you hit overtime. You know, as the Spirit so moves.  Except when you hit overtime during a church service, most people are starting to wonder where they are going to eat for lunch.  When we hit overtime yesterday against Michigan, my brother and I wondered if we should stay in case the game turned in our favor, or whether to go so we could beat the crowd should the game descend into a loss.  Glad we stayed.    

14)  There is the occasional shoving match.  In football games, these are usually between 250-pound linemen, broken up by referees.  In church, these are usually between 25-pound toddlers, broken up by preschool teachers.

15) Inevitably there are penalty flags. Most penalty flags in church get thrown when you find someone sitting in your seat.  The same seat you have sat in for the last decade.  How could these people not know that was your seat?!  Totally a penalty. 

16) Play calling.  On the sidelines this usually looks like a string of guys standing next to each other , all looking like they had a bee fly down their pants.  In church, this is the worship leader trying to subtly to signal to the band repeat the chorus a few more times.  You know, a hand in the air here, a few raised eyebrows there, a vigorous head nod to emphasize the point.

17) Who doesn't love a good half-time show?  This is also called coffee and donuts at church.  This is where everybody scatters to get some sustenance before returning to their seats for the remainder of the game.  

18) There's always the occasional headset malfunction or problem.  Thankfully I haven't seen my pastor do this yet when he's annoyed with his hands-free microphone.

Like I said, going to a football game is just like going to church.  

Better luck next year, Michigan.  Drink some milk in the meantime.  It does a body good.      

From One Buckeye to Another

As soon as I walked into the Maasai market, there was an onslaught of warm bodies and an abundance of items for sale.  It seemed there was a never-ending stream of people pushing in close, urging me to buy their products, trying to convince me that I was their best customer of the morning.  Shopping in the Maasai market in downtown Nairobi is not for the faint of heart - and certainly not for anyone who has no willpower.  If you can't stand your ground and give a rather forceful "no" or a very direct wave of the hand, then you'll get eaten alive. By the time you leave, you're on sensory overload and exhausted from the mental marathon you just experienced by haggling your way through the morning, dealing with persistent and incessant vendors.   

I equate the Maasai market to buying anything Amish back home.  You put the name Maasai on it and it sells.  It's rather annoying.  And what's even more annoying is walking into the market and having everyone think you're loaded just because you're an American.  What's also really annoying is when they say it's handmade or unique or that they spent all morning working on it.  I want to be like "Dude, there are ten more of this exact same item in just about every booth I walk past.  And I'm pretty sure you didn't spend all morning making it. Actually, I'm pretty sure YOU didn't make it at all."  I always want to ask them if I have "stupid" written across my forehead. 

As I meandered my way through, I kept my eyes open for a few items I had regretted not buying last time.  I came upon one gentleman's booth (if you can call it that - they basically lay out tarps on the ground and claim an area to lay out all of their goods) and spotted some jewelry that came somewhat close to what I was looking for.  As soon as they recognize they have something you want, the vendors can be relentless about making sure you walk away with.  He saw me glance at a few bracelets with an admiring eye and he pounced. 

"Very nice, yes.  I give you good price.  You are a good customer, I give good price. First customer of the morning, I give you good price."

I looked at him like he's crazy.  "First customer of the morning, really?  It's after 11 - I know you've been here awhile.  I'm fairly confident I'm not your first customer."

"No, no, you are my first customer."  Again, they must think I have stupid written across my forehead.  I try really hard not to be THAT American.

So, we started negotiating.  His first offer?  Fourteen hundred shillings for each bracelet I had picked up, which equals about $15, depending on your exchange rate.  I had six bracelets in my hand.  I said absolutely not, handed them back to him and walked away.  Because now I was annoyed.  I know some poor soul somewhere along the way probably thought that was a great offer and actually gave him the money.

He followed me around the market, determined that I should buy his bracelets.  I ignored him.  You don't want to give me my price, I'm not going to give you my money.  It's a simple concept.

I look at other jewelry and trinkets along the way.  He's still following me. I'm still ignoring him. I made another purchase along the way of a woodcarving I had regretted not buying last time.  (Took awhile to negotiate that one, too.  By the time I was done, we were down to 25% of what he had originally offered.)  I used to feel bad about ignoring them or waving them off or being really forceful, but they can be so dang aggressive about it that I just start to get mad.  They have brokers, too, which are even more irritating.  One snagged me as soon as I walked in and he wouldn't leave me alone.  I finally clapped my hands together and said rather directly, "Thank you, but I do not need your help!"  He left in a huff.  I didn't feel sorry this time around.

So, my bracelet friend is still following me.  He said with a reluctant smile on his face, which was a complete charade, "Okay, okay, I come down on my offer."  He gives me a new price. Still too high.  I know he can go lower.  They always write the prices down on their hands or pull you in close to whisper the price, as if they are telling you some deep dark secret, afraid to say it out loud for fear of the other vendors hearing.  His price was no secret and I'm still not stupid.

My time is running out.  I kept looking, not finding better jewelry from the other vendors.  My bracelet friend had what I wanted, just not at the price I wanted.  I made my way back to him and his booth.  He sees me coming.  I stooped down to look at the selection some more.  I handed him the bracelets I wanted, tell him the price I wanted them at and then added that I'm leaving the market in a few minutes, hoping to pressure him, knowing this is my last chance. 

And then I noticed his hat. 

Up until this point, I had just noticed his faded shirt and jeans and crooked yellow teeth.  I hadn't even glanced at the hat.  And what do I see on his hat?

A big block "O."

Turns out, I've got a Buckeye on my hands.

I tap his hat, smile at him and say I am from Ohio.  He says, "Oh yes, yes, good country."  Yes, I know.  Now give me the price I want so I can go back to my good country a happy woman.  He writes down one final price, the ink in his pen running out.

I said, "I'll give you this many shillings for all of these bracelets - and I'll throw in my pen, as well."  He finally succumbed.  I get my bracelets, he gets my money and my trusty pen.  We shake hands and I walk away.  We Buckeyes like to win.

Just don't make a liar out of me, Urban Meyer.  There is a man in Kenya wearing your hat.  We don't want to damage his reputation in the Maasai market.  ;)

Hello, Fall

I know, I might have skipped a season or two.  But what good is a spring game and over 81,000 people if it doesn't conjure up images of Saturday afternoons, football, and apple cider?

Welcome, Urban Meyer.  We hope you enjoy your stay here in the land of Buckeyes.  We are hoping it isn't short-lived. 

Taking Bets

"All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible. This I did."  - T.E. Lawrence

I'd say year 25 was all about crossing a few things off the bucket list and crossing off a few things that were never on the bucket list to begin with.  I've been thinking a lot about what has happened in the last year, expected things, unexpected things, but always an adventure.  It was all about being a dreamer of the day, acting on dreams with open eyes.  This I did. 

I've always had it on my bucket list to own a Great Dane.  Well, that didn't happen but I did get to meet Tucker the Great Dane.  That will have to suffice for now since I don't foresee owning 80 acres anytime soon to accommodate owning such an animal.  My dad thinks I should just skip the Great Dane and buy a horse.   It's the same thing to him.

And then I got to watch one of my very best friends marry the Future Husband she had written about for years and in the process I got to meet one of my favorite authors at her wedding.  It was sweet to watch Erica throughout this process, seeing the crazy days, the good days, and the days when she would e-mail me in a panic about how to insert an anchor JPEG into her invitation.  I always love being a part of people's weddings and this was the year for quite a few.  I also got to see Steph get married, and numerous other friends have since gotten engaged.  I celebrate with them in those moments.

I welcomed a new niece into the world, which wasn't so much on the bucket list (like I have control over that) as it was just a fitting moment in life.  I sold some of my paintings (Thank you, Debbie S., for supporting the arts and my then-grocery budget).  I read a grand total of 45 books since last October.  That's not one of my life's aims, but I started keeping a log a year ago May of every book I have since read and I went over my list last night just to jog my memory on some of my favorites that I had read in the past year.  I capped off year 25 by finishing up Susan Casey's The Wave, which was a fantastic read.  I am now fascinated by all things surfing.  I just have no desire to add to my list "surf the world's biggest wave."  But maybe I'll add to the list "sit on the beach in Hawaii and watch someone else surf big waves." 

After that was a trip I had dreamed about since I was a kid.  Africa.  I don't need to elaborate on this one I think since I chronicled so much of that adventure on here.  But that trip was so worth it.  Even this morning, I woke up missing those kids, in particular, little David.  For some reason his sweet face popped into my head and I got a little sad about not being able to see him anytime soon.  But I know I'll go back some day.  I don't know when that will be, but I'm determined to make it happen.                                                                     

In between, I finished my MBA.  That was one of those things that wasn't on the list.  I had no intention of ever going to grad school, but away we went.  I got to laughing the other day because I pulled out my notebook where I write down the list of things I want to do in my lifetime.  I had on there "graduate from high school" and "graduate from college."  Check and check.  Just didn't have on there anything about grad school.  So that was a bonus for the year.   

 But I guess I couldn't have picked a better way to end year 25 when my brother told me he bought me tickets to the Ohio State vs. Indiana game this past weekend. I know, I know.  I had felt like I was committing some kind of crime by having lived in Ohio all my life and having never been to an OSU game at The 'Shoe.  I was waiting for the police to show up on my doorstep.  I loved everything about the game, about the traditions, about the stadium, about the Skull session, even the crazy Indiana fan sitting next to us who I thought was going to burst a blood vessel.  To top it off, it was Jim Tressel's 100th win. (Thank you, South Carolina, for bringing down Alabama - that certainly helped to catapult OSU to #1 in the country.)

So, yeah, year 25 was pretty great.  But I'm taking bets that year 26 will be better.  God has shown him faithful in numerous ways, both big and small.  And it's not to say that the best years are always sunshine and roses, for they are surely tempered with a few storms.  But I don't ever want to be the kind of person that says the best years of my life are behind me.  I think I'll tackle "own a hammock" and "spend a week or two on a dude ranch" for this year.  And who knows what will be unexpectedly added to the list. 

Eaten with a Fox or in a Box?

God bless teachers, especially of little ones.  I've learned that keeping track of these kids is like trying to herd cats, although I guess in this country it would be like trying to herd meerkats.  They have the attention span of a gnat, which drives me crazy sometimes but then I have to remember that they are four, not forty.  Mid-mornings are spent corraling the pre-K and kindergartners since they either aren't in school at all or are in school only half-day.  So Kate and I usually go down to the cottages around 10:30 and spend the mornings with the youngest ones in the village while the older ones are in school.   

I basically get the good end of the deal when it comes to spending time with the kids.   I get to play games with them, read books to them, find bugs, and then send them home at the end of the day.  Like in this picture above, Kilonzi and I were practicing a hand-clap game I had taught many of them.  Kilonzi is just about the cutest kid ever (although I guess we say that about every kid we meet) and is missing his two front teeth.  Some of the girls are obsessed with this hand-clap game and now want to play it every time they see me.  They start forming a line and then shove each other out of the way to get to me first.  It's cute, but then after awhile I just have to tell them we are done clapping hands!

Then sometimes we go looking for bugs.  I think we were rather fascinated by some weird looking green spider in this photo.  We constantly have to tell the kids, "Look, but don't touch."  They are always trying to get their hands all over everything - cameras, books, our clothes, my hair, and for some reason they are fascinated by my long nails - so we have to tell them just to look at things.  Well that phrase was short-lived, especially when it came to bugs.  They always want to flick or move them or crush them, then Michael just proceeded to squash the spider all together.  That was the end of looking at the spider.


So we moved on and attempted to spend some time reading.  Again, it's like herding cats.  We're encouraged to read to them out loud so that they can hear a native-English speaker and know better how to pronounce things but also how to add inflection in the appropriate places.  No 4-year old cares about that, as evidenced by the fact that they spend their story time sitting in a tire and are generally fascinated by what everyone else is doing rather than whether green eggs and ham should be eaten with a fox or be eaten in a box.

  
But then there are, of course, moments when I do have their attention even though they have no idea what they are doing or why they are doing it.  They are just excited to learn something new.  I don't think I need to explain the photo further.  :)

O-H!