“Your Mom Threw a Better Spiral than I Did”
“Your mom threw a better spiral than I did!”
So ends one of my husband’s favorite stories to tell my kids. They’ve heard it so many times that when he starts telling it, they often say something like, “Oh, I know, Dad, I’ll bet Mom threw a better spiral than you did!”
It’s the day of the Georgia-Florida game, among numerous other big football games, and for some reason, I’m thinking about football. Although my husband and I both graduated from UGA, although he grew up down the street from Vince Dooley (if you don’t know who that is, you might should find something else to read:), although my husband also held a coveted position as a runner and a ballboy when he grew up, for some reason we are not the kind of diehard fans that will mourn for several days after our team loses or get in the face of a Gator when our team wins. In fact, our eldest son, Kirby, who now attends Auburn, blames us for never taking him to a Georgia game. Yes, it is our chief failure as parents. And even worse, dare I say it? I find myself watching Auburn games more now than Georgia games and trying to figure out if they are the War Eagles or the Tigers!
With that long rambling introduction to our status as football fans, I’m going to tell you a few of my football memories, for better or worse, and ask you to tell me some of yours.
First, the story Kip likes to tell. It has to do with our courtship, or perhaps when he truly fell in love with me. We were biology lab partners, and before the first test, he asked me to study with him for the first test. (No, he really was not pursuing me at this point, because he was too busy taking – PENNY CASH – to the World’s Largest Cocktail Party, aka The Georgia-Florida game!) I arrived at his apartment to pick him up (yes, that’s a little backwards:), but since we weren’t dating, I guess it was okay). I noticed a football sitting on the kitchen table, and I said, “Hey, why don’t you bring that?” He looked at me puzzled, and I said, “Yeah, well we’ll need study breaks, so we can go outside and throw the football.” And that’s when, as he tells the kids the story, he delivers the punchline…”Your mom threw a better spiral than I did!”
It’s not exactly true that I threw a better spiral than he did, but I did know how to throw a football. After my parents divorced, we spent every other weekend on a farm my father rented, and many fall afternoons were passed (so to speak:) with my Dad, brother, and I throwing the football around. I was fully prepared when we moved into a neighborhood with a park where touch football games were the daily activity of the neighborhood kids. Usually the only girl, I often played quarterback or receiver. (We played the old two-pass first down rules, for those of you who remember.)
Then there were the Atlanta Falcons of the 70’s…they completed the misery of Sunday afternoons when the sweet Sabbath of the weekend was drawing to a close by rarely failing to lose and to look like the “Foul – Clowns” as they did so. I have too many memories of my brother throwing temper tantrums when they lost – I have to hand it to him – I’d long ago given up on them, but he always held onto the belief that one week they would do better!
And a long overdue apology – despite the fact that it was football that brought us together, my husband and I were married on September 4, 1982 – the day of the Georgia-Auburn game in Athens. As I say, he grew up down the street from the Dooleys, who threw us a pre-wedding party. To all of the die-hard dawgs who were presented with a terrible dilemma that day, we apologize for our poor scheduling. (I should explain to those who find this utterly inexcusable that we had no choice – it was the only Saturday between semesters – we got married before our Senior year in college).
Sadly, I no longer throw a better spiral than my husband. After two shoulder surgeries on my throwing shoulder, I live with a huge fear that if I were to attempt to throw a football my arm would come off with the forward motion and go hurtling into the neighbor’s yard. But I do occasionally dream about it.
HUNKER DOWN YOU HAIRY WAR EAGLES!



