HOW FOOTBALL WORKS IS, I DONT KNOW BY juntz
My brother explained football to me when we were watching it on a wide screen at my aunt and uncle’s house in Santa Monica. My brother teaches 6th grade, so he did a really good job even though I am an idiot.
Here is what I now know:
They all line up. Red team and Purple team. Red has the ball. The football, which the game is named after.
The whistle blows. The Red guy who only has one job, which is to do this, “hikes” the ball behind himself. He has his butt in the air, and the ball has to pass between his legs. He is wearing spandex capri pants, or, “Clam Diggers.”
The QB gets the ball, and now it’s really Go Time. He has to “set up the play.” Like James Van der Beek in the 1999 MTV film, Varsity Blues. Van der Beek is the QB. It means Quarter Back. It means that women love you and wear whipped cream bikinis for you. It means that later your career will really go down the toilet post-Rules of Attraction but my brother will continue to emulate your middle-parted hairstyle (aka “The Butt Cut”) well into his college years. It means A HERO. Okay. (Me: “What if he drops it?” My Brother: “He sucks.”)
What happens next happens in truly about 2-10 seconds. If you wear glasses usually but are not wearing them now, forget it. If you’re prone to sort of zoning out at pivotal moments when important facts are repeated for the only time during movies that have actual plots (why do I do that? seriously. seriously. why?), forget it.
Basically, the kind of burst of hormone-crazed adrenaline that certain moms are maybe-apocryphally have said to have reacted with in response to infants trapped beneath cars, etc., is happening in all of the dudes on the field, Team Red AND Team Purple, and it looks like this:
1) Everybody
2) gets on top
3) of the dude holding the ball
and the whistle blows again.
oslo, and if i've already yelled at/pinged you about this then shut up, i'm considering purchasing the building reproduced above so i can open my drug store/soda counter there and no one will ever "get a job, sir" me again because i will be the kind of small business owner about whom you read in sunday styles. it will be a good drug store, stocking necessities like band aids, ibuprofen, light bulbs, brooms and cranberry supplements - all the things for which, in portland, you have to schlep to an unflatteringly lit box store where you begrudgingly want to buy one million kinds of mascara and big boy tees in vibrant colors like safety green and mature purple. NOW these things will be only a cross country plane ride away!
i would really like to employ a pharmacist so that i can consider going back on birth control without having to figure out whether or not the traditionally garbed ladies at the better health pharmacy on fulton and franklin will judge me when i ask them to fill a rx for lo-ovral.
there will also be a candy & soda counter where all i care about is coke from the fountain. i've been drinking a can of coke a day and i have zero complaints.
i feel obliged to tell you now that i will not be selling your zine at my drug store. that is not the point. nor will i serve beer or buy the vacant lot next door and turn it into an outdoor chilling area for all my friends. those are also not the points. but if you are 10 and you just fell off your skateboard, maybe your mom will come in and buy some rubbing alcohol and a charleston chew.
