Football on the Radio

It might be, like fire, that it can be used for beneficial purposes, or destructive ones. In yesterday’s post I tried to capture one simple, fleeting moment in time and investigate, forensically perhaps, its nuance. The synchronicity of happenstance, of one song recurring in my life, separated by forty years (one has to wonder how that would look on the sheet) is a tiny thing, one atom among trillions. BUT, what made that one song memorable was the action taking place around it adding color, emotion and eternal association. I will never - and I don’t say that a lot - never forget the time, place and cellular detail of listening with the specific intention of fusing it into my consciousness. I wanted that moment to become a part of me. Calling it the soundtrack of my like is closer to the actual reality, but I prefer to look at it as simply paying attention to the swirling minutiae of relentless change on the eternal human platform. I prefer to believe there to be a reason, perhaps one as simple as my soul searching for reasons to choose joy when angst might be a far easier reaction, or even a gentle reminder to seek the magic in the mundane, everyday routine. Truly, I do not know. However, much like our clumsy and frustratingly futile attempts to define quality or love, anytime, anywhere for any reason that the magic shows up, I pledge to embrace and engage with it. To merge it into my reality.

With this as back-story, it happened again last evening.

This festive time of year, I volunteer to taxi folks to and from the ferry terminal connecting our island with the mainland, downtown Seattle. Early yesterday the call came into central dispatch that a pickup time had been changed to a 1645 pick-up for a 1700 drop-off. Not a problem I instantly replied, see you then. In making the correction to my trusty day timer I quickly see that there IS a problem. A BIG one. The last game of the season, the swan song for Coach Pete, the Las Vegas Bowl, kicks-off at 1635. If I am to provide the free ride, it will come with a trade-off.

The internal debate takes all of ten seconds. I was very much looking forward to watching the game from start to finish as I suspect that the augmented emotion might just propel my Huskies to their best, or at least most spirited, contest in what has turned out to be a disappointing and frustrating year. All I have ever asked of this team is to play with passion and high energy. If there was a single quality that, given the opportunity, I would preach and teach above all others, even above blocking and tackling, it would be to play the game with relaxed focus, know where you are in physical time and space and let ‘er rip. All this happens naturally when one practises with consistency and dedication. Athletically its natural progression becomes dynamic flow, or what serious fans call mojo. Like quality, love and magic, it is hard to define but easy to see when obvious examples are present.

I am listening to a weak FM signal as I drive to the pick-up location. I arrive and am immediately met with an apology. No big I say, having already sworn to avoid the elephant in the car. We politely converse about the rain here and the sun there, the holidays, family, all the usual. I drop them off and we hug good-byes, so-longs and ho-ho-hos.

I have been thinking about how to play the next phase. Behind the wheel of their beautiful new AWD Subaru - with a heated seat - I can haul-ass back to their place and watch the game on their 65” rec room TV, drive directly home and watch it here, or take it back, put it in the garage, hope back in Whitey and return home to watch with the dogs I am 'supervising.' By the time time I get back the decision has been made. I lock their car up and fire-up Whitey’s four-banger twisting the heat and defrost knob to full and doing same to the volume on the radio. I carefully back out of the drive and onto the curvy, twisty, dark streets five miles away from home.

I decide to delay the inevitable and enjoy the night instead of setting a new island land-speed record to reduce the number of plays I will miss. I relax into a night-time version of road-flow, noticing the decorations, Christmas lights and the wind pushing gray clouds past the moon. I am feeling good despite the scratching throat that has been lingering for two days, and recall the story about Rikki. I smile, pleased with my patience and appreciation of this magic moment, one that will surely make me feel better when I get home.

And I turn the radio on.

TOUCHDOWN HUSKIES.

I turn the radio off.

And smile.