Saturday night was a good night for football.
The sky was clear, and the air a little crisp. In Arizona, 'a little crisp' is always welcome. (It just doesn't feel like a football game when you smell so much SPF 15 and see so much skin you may as well be at the beach.)
In the opening minutes of the game, our team scored quickly; my Dad missed this because he had to make a pit stop.
As he joined us, he asked, "What happened?"
I responded, "There were some good plays, and we scored."
Mr W leaned over me, all excited: "On the kickoff, we nearly broke through, and he would've scored, but he got tripped up on the 35, 40 yard line. Then they threw a 35 yard pass, then * another *, and we scored."
This part, *another*, I had to leave out. He spewed so much information, so quickly, I can't remember it all.
I didn't say much, because although all the passing was exciting, I figured all Dad needed to know was that we scored.
Guess I was wrong.
And it's apparent I'm missing the ESPN gene.