All is well on the Southern Front
February 1, 2007
I have descended into indolence with ease, and I have spent hours in the company of my sisters and Dad. That was, after all, a primary goal. Steve has settled into his broadcasting easy chair without any incidents. The Super Bowl glimmers on the horizon, but Steve is pacing himself nicely. I noticed a Zen quality in him during the season- he refused to get too invested in an outcome: he just enjoyed every game. He even extracted a fallback position on New Year’s Eve, where his affection for Brett Farve served as a poultice for the spanking the Packers administered. His weekends have been enriched by marathons of sports coverage. When I drift off on Sunday, he is ramping up to the national NFL coverage, after watching Jeff Joniak and Tom Thayer’s final thoughts. He is always smiling.
I know that win or lose, Steve will mourn the end of this half-year. He appreciates the organization that football provides him over the weekend. He considers Monday night a touch of dessert, and NCAA Saturdays an appetizer. It is a very full plate he is balancing, but he goes after it with gusto.
Our boys have overcome my ambivalence toward the Game to become as rabid as their Dad. Mike has landed like the proverbial pig in slop, at the most perfect job he could dream of: Comcast Sports Net. He does on-air promotion, but I think he would do anything to be enmeshed in the world of sports. He even enjoyed his first Cubs Convention! Matt has never aligned with DePaul basketball, maybe because it is off campus. His sports compass guides him to be a daredevil skier, snowboarder, and skateboarder. He relaxes by catching any Chicago game he can get the college kid discount (free) on. Pat has to work a little harder to be a rabid Chicago sports fan, as he is in LA. His first computer click each day is to read the Tribune sports for information, and then he clicks the Sun Times, to pluck Jay Mariotti’s ramblings for dissection at Jaythejoke.com.
Boys and their fathers are intended to find friction during the wonder years, and ours were no exception. Game Day at the house functioned as a truce. We provided a big couch, snacks, company, commentary and the best TV I would allow in my Ethan Allen family room. The venue was a magnet, drawing the boys together with their Dad. We kept improving the TV, finally giving the over- the- mantle place of honor to a Runco 50 inch HD monitor with surround sound. I gave up the pretense of a family room- we are a Stadium Club. After a lifetime in Chicago, Steve bought two Big Seat tickets to see the games up close with the boys. They have taken turns being the Special Son. When the Bears and Sox are on the road, the family room still beckons. By now, they have a locker of memories that they will carry throughout their lives: Bears, Illini, Northwestern, and Sox. There are Super Bowls that they cared about, and ones that functioned as an excuse for big eating.
This game is epic. When we last surfed on a blue and orange Super Bowl wave, Pat was 4, Mike 2, and Matt newborn. We thought there might be a dynasty ahead. We were so wrong. So, on Friday night, at an absurd cost per minute, the Dahl boys will migrate to South Florida. They will arrive inconveniently, sleep infrequently, and pack their waking moments with Bears and brotherhood. Steve will be the pack leader, designated driver, and the enabler. Ordinarily, I would be the voice of reason, squishing these extravagant plans for practical reasons. Not this time.
What if it takes another 21 years to get to the big game? Steve will no doubt be out of the broadcasting business. I will be 21 years less connected to sports. The boys will be middle aged, and we all know that middle age tethers us to reality. Magic has combined to make this weekend a possibility. I am waving my wand of approval. My men will always have Miami. Here’s looking at you, Chicago Bears. Thanks, and good luck on Sunday. But come what may, this is another patch in the crazy quilt of Dahl life. I love being able to stitch it.
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