I like football. I do. There is no better place to be on a cool September Friday evening, than watching a football game. Unless, of course, you have a three year old that just won't stay off the field, or quit running off into the crowds, or a seven year old that insists he is old enough to prowl around unescorted, or a pre-adolescent nine year old girl who "just doesn't understand football" and would rather be at a sleepover. You know, except for those small factors. And lightning. And rain. And freezing temperatures. But I'm talking crisp, cool, evening. The kinds that were made for football.
But I realized that my appreciation for football is lacking in one major area.
I don't know what a "gun" on a ten year old is.
My Eldest played quarterback on Friday night. This is new. The little boy I've known for ten years didn't want people to look at him. He is not OK with making mistakes and who makes more obvious mistakes than a quarterback? At least as a runningback he only had to be the center of attention when had the ball. Which was less than he wanted it.
But Friday night, he was lobbing the ball all over the field. Many, many passes went uncaught. Many had no hope of being caught by anyone but the opposing team. But once he calmed down and quit playing hot potato with the football, he and his receiver got a little rhythm going and made some plays. A touchdown even. And yes, I was a proud mama and an excited one. Football is more interesting when your kid has the ball sometimes. Or is making plays (he plays pretty decent D, too). But it DID NOT occur to me that his passing was anything remarkable.
Until, that is, the men on the sidelines started patting his daddy on the back and talking about those guns and rifles he was throwing.
Really? Guns and rifles?
Hubs was talking about the pretty passes. The clean spirals. The length of the passes.
I've been watching pro and college and even high school football too long. I was not aware that a five yard pass was impressive. Then again, once he finally started throwing the football at his teammates, he dropped them right into their waiting hands. And apparently men know that passes like that on a ten year old are pretty good.(?) So when Hubs started asking Eldest on Saturday morning if his arm was sore from lobbing that ball "all over that field" and they continued to talk about it for another 30 minutes, I clued in.
Apparently my kid can throw.
A football, anyway.