This is the one with the touchdowns, right? I'd like to be sure because there was this one time while watching baseball with my brother-in-law that I asked, "So, how many points does Cleveland have?"
He turned to me with a look of horror and disgust. "Runs."
"Huh?" I asked, baffled.
"They are called runs. Runs."
"Umm...okay. But aren't runs points? I mean, technically? They keep the score, right? Like points."
He looked at me in disbelief like I had just dropped out of the sky and had antennae sprouting out of my head. "No. Breda...they are runs," he said as patiently as he could manage.
Whoops. I had somehow unwittingly committed some sort of baseball sacrilege akin to left-handed hummus dipping in the Middle East. I'm not sure he talked to me the rest of the day.
I've been invited to a superbowl party today and don't have the slightest clue who is playing, or how. I will busy myself at the snack table and quietly ponder the goodness of beer. I remember watching football as a kid and thinking, "Man, this game takes forever. When is Dad going to give up the remote?" (answer: Not anytime today. Go read a book.)