He's holding with impunity

It took an awful long time, most of September to be exact, but I was quite jazzed to feel a cool, crisp autumn morning this morning. Over the years, I've determined that this is, in fact, my favorite time of year just because. I suppose it would be manly of me to say autumn is my fave because it's football season. Nothing says machismo like sweaty dudes in skin tight uniforms running into each other and popping each other on the butt after a job well done.

In reality, though, I have no real reason. Feel free to give me a reason in the comment section. But this morning's full blown splendor was a reminder that those god-awful hellish days of hell we call summer are gone until they come back. Which, given my luck, will probably be a couple of days from now.

Speaking of football, Buster has joined up with a local team of ragamuffins for an introduction into that very sport. Having never known him to show interest in any sport that doesn't involve cute creatures and a gun, I was pleasantly surprised. And finding my attempts to discuss the more obscure realms of the early 70s Swedish prog scene with him meeting with indifference, I've been looking for something of mutual interest. Besides iCarly, of course.

Not that I have much experience actually playing football. But I've got a decent enough handle on the formal qualifications and rules: the match is usually played on a field of some description among contestants wearing colorful uniforms with mascots that are usually ferocious animals, insects or rapers/pillagers. UC-Santa Cruz Banana Slugs being a notable exception of outside-the-box mascot thinking. Probably why they suck.

Practice started a few weeks ago; his first game was this past weekend. In the interim, Marisol had been giving me updates on how things were progressing. I was expecting to hear how he stacks up with his teammates or how many tackles he made. Marisol's updates covered these things somewhat. The major point, however, seemed to be the fact that Buster's not a big fan of 'the cup' and can't really understand why he has to bother with it.

Not wishing such trauma for the tyke, I told Marisol it would only take one shot in the business for him to decide his cup as vital his helmet. She then proceeded to tell me how she managed to install it incorrectly, creating much discomfort. It would seem that of the two possible ways for it to go, she guessed wrong. While I enjoy talking with Marisol and am sure there was no doubt an interesting and possibly amusing tale therein, discussion of her 8-year old's nether regions and the protection thereof is something I'll leave to his parents. Sometimes you've just got to take a stand. Cameron taught me that.

So after all the talk of practice and cups fell away, that left nothing left to do besides play an actual game. Being one of the bigger kids out there, they stuck Buster on the line; His instructions being to hold off the fellow directly in front of him until he hears the whistle. This he does well, but is still working on the idea of following the ball. It's good that him and his opponent can batter like rams with neither giving in, but not quite as important when the fella with the ball has already finished his endzone dance.

And in a remarkable attempt to induce an asthma attack, they have him playing both ways, offense and defense. At this level, that means little. Essentially, after four downs or less, he's doing the pushing instead of being pushed. I say less, because the world of mighty mights is feast or famine. Either a play loses 5 yards or scores a touchdown. There is no slow, methodical grinding drive and on every play either the offense or defense simply imposes their will.

(An aside--that's my all-time favorite holler I've ever heard at a football game: "Defense, impose your will." That it was said by a tiny-ish dude of Arabic descent and not, say, Russell Crowe in full battle armor atop a fiery steed made it all the more better. My second all-time fave just happens to be this post's title. We Tech fans are an erudite bunch of fanatics.)

Thus far, Buster's team has been on the receiving end of most of that imposing. Though they managed 19 points in the first game on about 4 plays, they've also gave up the better part of 50 points. Unlike some areas of modern life, on the football field having more means you win. Last night, they only gave up 27 but were held to a goose egg. Progress perhaps, but the cheerleaders didn't even bother to show up. This made that whole "We've Got Spirit" cheer as lopsided as the game, and it is ultimately what I blame the shutout on.

Those looking for the bright side would be pointed towards the fact that Buster's defense stopped an extra point. A few tears aside, no one was injured. Buster's early game cup difficulties were corrected. And Marisol's post-game snacks were a hit. Rah.