Death of a Football Mom

Memoirs: Death of a Football Mom

My football years began in high school. Not as a football player, but as a cheerleader. There were only a few on our squad that actually understood or were actually interested in the game. The rest of us were there to be peppy, loud & cute. The girls that understood the game knew when to do an offensive or defensive cheer. I always marveled at how they knew before we had the ball that we should do a touchdown or first and ten cheer. What was a first and ten anyway? Generally, we had losing seasons, which meant even less interest in the nuts and bolts of the game. I was also a young teenage girl infatuated with those fellas with the nice tight purple pants. Life couldn’t get much better.
Then, I became a football mom. This happened much earlier in life than most women anticipate becoming sports fanatics. I married, at the young age of twenty, a man with two sons. Bring on the flag football.
The first football season we were married, I found myself rising early on Saturday mornings and sitting on cold metal bleachers. I had never sat on bleachers before, I always cheered and I found the experience rather unpleasant. There wasn’t a backrest and there was usually either bird droppings or dead bugs on the bench itself. But, I sat there.
My situation was a little different than most women that marry men with children. Usually, the real mom is active in their lives and they also live with her except every other weekend. That was not true for our situation those boys became mine. My heart wasn’t initially into the sports part of the relationship, but I knew that I had to be there to cheer them on. And, cheering is what I did best; at least I could wear warm clothes and bring a blanket!
The years dragged by; flag football to junior high football and on to high school football. High school football was more fun; it wasn’t just the parents in the crowd; but the whole town.
My youngest son was the football player, all the way. My oldest, not so much. The oldest son didn’t have the heart for the game and only played because his friends did. Thankfully, he spared us tedious years of high school play. The youngest; however, has put me through eleven years of cold bleachers.

It was at a high school game his sophomore year that I started to understand the game. I would ask my husband, but he was so into the game the answers were short and did not make much sense. Then, I noticed another set of parents in the stands and if we sat close to them, the dad was much like a sports commentator. Still, the first and ten, downs, fumbles and all other terminology were a mystery. One night a dear friend of mine came to the game. She fanatically loves football, so when I sat next to her, expecting to visit I was surprised to find myself learning about the game. Many questions later, almost a decade of clueless football watching had suddenly become much more enjoyable. Now when I asked my husband a question, those very brief answers (often) made sense. Please don’t misunderstand me; referee motions are still a mystery for the most part. However, I can spot several penalties and yell when the ref doesn’t see it the way I did, especially if it concerns my kid.
He is a senior now. We have enjoyed cheering him to the end zone many times. He has made some amazing catches and runs. I even understood the double reverse play that works well for getting a touchdown. Though he is in a position that gets a lot of credit, I do know now that the blocking is crucial to the quarterback getting the pass to him or someone else. The greatest part about the team this year is the fact that so many of the team members are capable of running, passing and catching. Most of the teams we played against, it is just one or two that can make it to the end zone. Our players seemed to be able to do it all when it needed to be done.
He has played his last game. The evening was beautiful and warm, except the bleachers. This night was to honor senior parents of athletes. It is a nice tradition, marching arm in arm with your son after he hands you a flower and as they announce your names. He’s all grown now, much bigger than the little 7-year-old boy with a yellow flag hanging out of his pants. He doesn’t hug like he did when he was seven either, but he did hug his dad and me before the game.
I look at the parents, we’ve been through it all for over a decade. Together. Cheering, supporting and freezing. We each share a common bond; our kids have been together since the beginning. Together, we were silent and held our breath when one of ours didn’t get up after a play. Only once did the ambulance drive away with one of ours in it. That moment was so heart wrenching, I honestly can’t tell you if we won that game or not. Thankfully, that same player, that broke his leg, became our kicker.
This last game was their chance for the play offs and that chance has passed by. Each one of those senior guys walked off that football field, never to wear a purple jersey again. Many of them stayed on the field as long as they could, soaking in the moment. Each one of those men gave their heart to the game, the team and to the community. There is something about the spirit of your school that you carry within. It doesn’t ever go away. There are people in those stands that have played on that field, watched their children and grandchildren play on that field. They have felt those emotions of victories and losses. There are people that are in those stands because they have always been in those stands, cheering on every player that runs onto that field and calls himself an Indian.
I lay in bed last night hardly believing football was over. I spent so many years wishing for this night. How was it possible that those years seemed to drag by and now, as I look back they actually flew? One more game would not have changed this feeling. Winning state would not have changed this feeling! I will never have to sit on cold bleachers again. In fact, I was cheated out of cold bleachers on the very last quarter as a football mom. I won a bleacher cushion.