I know this blog is mostly about books and babies, but I’m assuming that at least a few of you enjoy sports. For those of you who don’t, please indulge me for a minute, or check back later.
The NFL playoffs are afoot. On Saturday, there was a game with local interest. The beloved hometown Ravens were squaring off against the hated Pittsburgh Steelers. Though the Ravens jumped out to a 21-lead, the Steelers stormed back in the second half and won, devastating everyone within 150 miles of here and putting an even bigger target on the back of every Steelers fan.
I was surprised, then to see a car with a Steelers sticker on the bumper when I stopped by Proccolino’s (our favorite local pizza joint) to pick up dinner last night. I was waiting at the counter for my order when the owner of the car started speaking (a bit more loudly than I thought advisable) to his son, sharing the philosophy of the gridiron.
“Sometimes the enemy of your enemy is your friend,” he said, referring to the Jets/Patriots tilt that was upcoming later that evening. Apparently, the man was teaching his son that although the Jets were loathsome, the Patriots were even more so, and that it was ok to cheer for the Jets on this one occasion. The young man looked unconvinced. “But I hate the Jets, Dad,” he said, before taking a bite of his pizza. “The enemy of your enemy, Son,” said the dad, putting a reassuring hand on his boy’s shoulder.
That was all of the conversation that I caught. My pizzas were done, and I headed home. The Patriots lost, my heart broke (I’m still a New Englander at heart), and I thought of that young man at Proccolino’s, wondering if he now understood the timeless wisdom of football.
