Books and other stuff I feel like discussing
By education and experience - Accountant with a specialty in taxation. Formerly a CPA (license has lapsed). Masters degree in law of taxation from University of Denver. Now retired. Part time work during baseball season as receptionist & switchboard operator for the Colorado Rockies. This gig feeds my soul in ways I have trouble articulating. One daughter, and four grandchildren. I share the house with two cats; a big goof of a cat called Grinch (named as a joke for his easy going "whatever" disposition); and Lady, a shelter adoptee with a regal bearing and sweet little soprano voice. I would be very bereft if it ever becomes necessary to keep house without a cat.
Mood:
Remembering
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Bears and Packers
My parents weren't sports fans. My dad knew a few stories gleaned from the popular culture of the 40's and 50's - Satchel Paige's pitching prowess is about the only one I recall. They attended local high school football games, I realized in later years that their interest was primarily caused by my participation in the band, and following the athletes was merely an add-on.
New Year's Day is about the only time I recall the television turned to football, and we all waited with varying degrees of impatience for the Rose Bowl game, which usually was broadcast late in the afternoon and included a Big Ten athletic team as one of the participants.
My hometown was about 50 miles from the University of Iowa in Iowa City, and Big Ten football was big news. My guess is that my parents' interest was fostered by comments and enthusiasm in their friends and neighbors - it was what everyone was talking about. Had we lived in some corner of the United States far removed from a sense of community involvement in following a team or set of teams, I doubt if they would have paid even a small amount of attention.
So when I met a guy who had grown up just north of Green Bay Wisconsin who was an avid Packer fan, I really had no idea what this level of enthusiasm was all about.
I had two younger brothers, at the time ten and eleven years old. The ten year old insisted he was going to go to college in Green Bay, so he could play for the Packers. My boyfriend was delighted at this comment, and sort of regarded it as cute. Much, much later I realized that my little brother might have been the butt of several jokes had he made that remark on the school playground. I doubt if my father would have picked up on the distinction, and gently corrected him before my brother would have been embarrassed.
The Packer fan and I got married, and our first post college jobs were in Chicago. I was amazed at what my fall Sunday afternoons involved. Since we could not afford a television, my husband listened to WTMJ from Milwaukee on a small portable radio held tightly to his ear. He tuned a table top radio to WGN Chicago. Packers from Milwaukee, Bears from Chicago. At times, the dial on the table top radio twirled to pick up other broadcasts and scores updates.
He seemed to have no difficulty whatsoever in following the action of both games. I didn't understand very much about it all, but I did learn that it was good news if the Packers won, and bad news if the Bears triumphed. The apartment was small, and there were few spots where I could have a little relief from the competing jabber of the play by play announcers, which to my ears made no sense at all.
I finally discovered that the angle of the corner where one entered the miniscule dining alcove in the kitchen offered some protection, and I would sit at the small table with a book or magazine and wait as patiently as I could for all of the noise to be over.
By late December 1967, we were in a different apartment. The NFL playoffs had begun, and the Bears were out of it. By now I had begun to learn the nuances of following all of this, and was interested. Not as fanatical as my husband, but interested. We also had a television set.
So, in the run-up to the first ever Super Bowl, it was vitally important that the Packers defeat the Dallas Cowboys. The game was played in sub zero weather, on a rock hard surface in the Green Bay stadium. I don't remember very much about the progress of the game, but I do recall that in the final closing seconds of the game, it was vital that the Packers score a touchdown.
My husband was simply beside himself with anticipation. In fact, he was literally unable to sit still, and finally had inched his way backwards out of the seat of his chair, and was half standing, half leaning against the wall behind the chair with his feet braced against one of the cushions.
The Packers won. I was, more than anything else, relieved. I'm not sure what the next few days would have been like had they lost. I'm sure he would have sulked and been inconsolable.
Two years later, interest in the Super Bowl had begun to expand into popular culture. Joe Namath of the New York Jets made his famous "guarantee" that the Jets of the American Football League would beat the Colts of the National Football League. To everyone's general amazement, he made good on this boast.
That afternoon, we had invited another married couple to watch the game with us, stay for dinner, and play bridge. The husband of the other couple was a Chicago native, and, of course, a Bears fan. The other wife and I were very, very amused at the horrified reaction of our two spouses as the game unfolded and the hallowed NFL was going down in defeat. This just could NOT be happening! What on earth was wrong?
Pleasant, pleasant memories. A much younger time, perhaps the world was not innocent at that time and place, but I certainly was. As Barbra Streisand sang so beautifully: "Misty, watercolor memories of the way we were."
New Year's Day is about the only time I recall the television turned to football, and we all waited with varying degrees of impatience for the Rose Bowl game, which usually was broadcast late in the afternoon and included a Big Ten athletic team as one of the participants.
My hometown was about 50 miles from the University of Iowa in Iowa City, and Big Ten football was big news. My guess is that my parents' interest was fostered by comments and enthusiasm in their friends and neighbors - it was what everyone was talking about. Had we lived in some corner of the United States far removed from a sense of community involvement in following a team or set of teams, I doubt if they would have paid even a small amount of attention.
So when I met a guy who had grown up just north of Green Bay Wisconsin who was an avid Packer fan, I really had no idea what this level of enthusiasm was all about.
I had two younger brothers, at the time ten and eleven years old. The ten year old insisted he was going to go to college in Green Bay, so he could play for the Packers. My boyfriend was delighted at this comment, and sort of regarded it as cute. Much, much later I realized that my little brother might have been the butt of several jokes had he made that remark on the school playground. I doubt if my father would have picked up on the distinction, and gently corrected him before my brother would have been embarrassed.
The Packer fan and I got married, and our first post college jobs were in Chicago. I was amazed at what my fall Sunday afternoons involved. Since we could not afford a television, my husband listened to WTMJ from Milwaukee on a small portable radio held tightly to his ear. He tuned a table top radio to WGN Chicago. Packers from Milwaukee, Bears from Chicago. At times, the dial on the table top radio twirled to pick up other broadcasts and scores updates.
He seemed to have no difficulty whatsoever in following the action of both games. I didn't understand very much about it all, but I did learn that it was good news if the Packers won, and bad news if the Bears triumphed. The apartment was small, and there were few spots where I could have a little relief from the competing jabber of the play by play announcers, which to my ears made no sense at all.
I finally discovered that the angle of the corner where one entered the miniscule dining alcove in the kitchen offered some protection, and I would sit at the small table with a book or magazine and wait as patiently as I could for all of the noise to be over.
By late December 1967, we were in a different apartment. The NFL playoffs had begun, and the Bears were out of it. By now I had begun to learn the nuances of following all of this, and was interested. Not as fanatical as my husband, but interested. We also had a television set.
So, in the run-up to the first ever Super Bowl, it was vitally important that the Packers defeat the Dallas Cowboys. The game was played in sub zero weather, on a rock hard surface in the Green Bay stadium. I don't remember very much about the progress of the game, but I do recall that in the final closing seconds of the game, it was vital that the Packers score a touchdown.
My husband was simply beside himself with anticipation. In fact, he was literally unable to sit still, and finally had inched his way backwards out of the seat of his chair, and was half standing, half leaning against the wall behind the chair with his feet braced against one of the cushions.
The Packers won. I was, more than anything else, relieved. I'm not sure what the next few days would have been like had they lost. I'm sure he would have sulked and been inconsolable.
Two years later, interest in the Super Bowl had begun to expand into popular culture. Joe Namath of the New York Jets made his famous "guarantee" that the Jets of the American Football League would beat the Colts of the National Football League. To everyone's general amazement, he made good on this boast.
That afternoon, we had invited another married couple to watch the game with us, stay for dinner, and play bridge. The husband of the other couple was a Chicago native, and, of course, a Bears fan. The other wife and I were very, very amused at the horrified reaction of our two spouses as the game unfolded and the hallowed NFL was going down in defeat. This just could NOT be happening! What on earth was wrong?
Pleasant, pleasant memories. A much younger time, perhaps the world was not innocent at that time and place, but I certainly was. As Barbra Streisand sang so beautifully: "Misty, watercolor memories of the way we were."
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