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FURTHERMORE CALLS THE GAME
The college football season started last weekend and Furthermore, my Masonic
pet raven brother, and I are, as usual, enthralled.
We don’t care much for professional football, although we would support it
if we ever got it in Phoenix. But we do like college ball. We root for
Nebraska, the only pro team in our home state. And, since we live now in
Arizona, we occasionally root for Arizona State. They are hoping for an 8-3
season this year. Eight arrests and three convictions.
We’ve decided that the reason we love football so much is because it
combines the two most popular things in America: Committee meetings,
separated by short periods of intense violence. Not unlike some lodges we
know.
But we digress. That’s not what we wanted to talk to you about.
Our biggest concern with football, college or pro, is the possibility of
serious injury. I know. You’re right. We don’t really care about the
players. We are more concerned about the injuries to the English language.
It’s almost too hideous to watch and it certainly isn’t for the weak and the
young.
For example, during Sunday’s Georgia Tech/Syracuse game, the commentator
knowingly pointed out that the problem with Syracuse (other than their
nickname, the Orangemen) was with their “defensors.” That’s right. Their
defensors. Not the defensive line or the defensive players, but the
defensors. Furthermore and I figure that, by process of elimination, the
defensors have to be the opposite of the offensors, not to be confused with
coachesors or the arresting officors, you know?
With that as our grammatical kickoff for the new football season, we knew
we were in for a rough ride. We weren’t wrong. By the end of the last game
on Sunday—Colorado and Fresno State, for crying out loud--we were having a
hard time keeping up with the injury list. After a while, we just kept tabs
on the important ones, the hits to the heart, and let the little
prepositions and such go for another time.
Did you know, for example, that the Fresno State quarterback is renowned
for his physicality? Well, he is. We just hope it isn’t contagious.
Physicality is, apparently, an outgrowth of athleticism, which is what the
players on a really keen defensive line have if they are still on their feet
by the end of the third quarter or so. Athleticism.
Oh, one commentator
tried desperately to combine physicality and perspicacity and may have hurt
himself seriously. We think he’s out for the season. One can only hope, of
course.
Another player—we have mercifully forgotten which game—was touted to have
scoreability or boardability, these both, apparently, being references to
the young tyke’s ability to score points or put points on the board. Both
are desirable traits, of course, and we would not argue the point or points.
He was a mean-looking sucker. We didn’t hear that on TV but we were sure
some commentators were thinking it. This kid is so tough that after he
knocks off the opposing quarterback, he goes after his family in the stands.
That would be killability, we think. We do like to stay ahead of these
trends in language.
By the way, Furthermore and I are big Big 12 fans. We’re looking forward to
the season. Here’s a little Big 12 humor.
Do you know why the Baylor football team is like a possum?
Because they play dead
at home, and get killed on the road.
What are the longest three years of a Nebraska football player's life?
His freshman year.
How many Colorado freshmen does it take to change a light bulb? None . . .
That's a sophomore course at Colorado.
Where was O.J. headed in the white Bronco? Lawrence, Kansas. . .
He knew no
one would ever look there for a Heisman Trophy winner.
Well, enough. We just hate seeing the language—much less our sense of
humor-- murdered by vacuous baritones whose sole claim to fame is that the
understand just what the hell a nickel back is or why they call that guy a
tight end.
Enjoy the game!
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