A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Football Again

It was a hot August night, so naturally I went to a football game. On a hot August night, there is nothing quite like going to a football game.

At least 55,000 others went to this football game, some of them wearing nothing but shorts. Some of them stood and shook fingers at the officials. Some of them shouted drunkenly and stomped the floorboards. Some of them did not pass out until they got home. Everybody had a good time.

At halftime there was a fireworks show, and to most of the customers it did not seem to matter that the sky was still light. I am reasonably sure that to most of these people, it would not have mattered if explosives had been thrown into the parking lot, destroying their cars. They still would have had a good time.

The baseball season is nearly over, so you can understand their joy. There are fewer than three months left before the end of the World Series. It is in the great American tradition that football is sometimes played in the heat and baseball is sometimes played in the cold. In California there is a movement afoot to install air-conditioning at outdoor sporting events. It is just an idea.

The game I saw Saturday night was between the last two Super Bowl champions, the L.A. Raiders and the San Francisco 49ers. It was an evening of such gripping excitement that when the game was on the line in the fourth quarter, the quarterbacks were Scott Barry and Rusty Hilger.

Joe Montana was off the field by then, probably buying Jim Plunkett a diet cola. Lyle Alzado also was off the field by then, probably dreaming of a flame-broiled burger. Endorsements are taken very seriously in professional football. Maybe the 49ers and Raiders will meet in the next Super Bowl, after which Montana will offer to buy Alzado a Diet Whopper.

There were not a lot of thrills, spills and chills in the football game, so I spent most of the night reading the program and staring at a photograph of Soraya Rodriguez. Rodriguez is one of the Raiderettes, and the Raiderettes are “Football’s Fabulous Females,” after which is supposed to come a registered trademark. Cheerleading is taken very seriously in professional football.

I must admit that I did not spend much time waiting for the Coliseum public-address announcer to fill me in on “other scores around the league.” I realized that the Chargers’ 12-7 win over the Browns must have been a real pulse-racer, and the Rams’ 7-3 heart-stopper with the Oilers must have had a thrill a minute, and the Steelers’ 42-27 whipping of the Buccaneers must have proven to the world that it takes more to win in exhibition football than just defense.

Sunday morning, I checked to see who had scored all those Pittsburgh points. “W. Thompson, 15 pass from Malone,” the small type in the newspaper reported. “W. Thompson, 34 pass from Campbell.” “W. Thompson, 20 pass from Campbell.” Man, I told myself, this W. Thompson can play.

I did not have the slightest idea who W. Thompson was, unfortunately, so I went looking for more details. He turned out to be somebody named Weegie Thompson, who with talent and a name like that is destined to become one of football’s fabulous males.

I also saw where Jay Schroeder had a good game for the Redskins, and Herman Hunter ran back a kickoff 97 yards for the Eagles, and Jeff Smith rushed for a touchdown for the Chiefs, and I was so excited, man, that I wished ABC-TV would hurry up and start Monday Night, Thursday Night, Friday Night, Sunday Night Football again.

Too much is never enough, you know. I hear the Lions and Bills played an extra 15 minutes the other night before settling for a tie. If they were real men, they would have stayed out there until somebody scored--which, the way I hear it, would not have taken more than a couple of days.

The Bears and Cardinals also went at it over the weekend, piling up 13 points between them. Seeing as how they outscored the Rams and Oilers as well as the Mets and Cubs, they are to be saluted, and possibly even paid bonuses. I can see where people would not want to miss this sort of entertainment.

I just wish the regular season would hurry up and get here. I need my NFL fix. I can’t wait to see six or seven of those Chiefs-Broncos games on NBC. I can’t wait to see those penetrating Irv Cross interviews on CBS. I can’t wait to see John Madden crash through a door on that beer commercial for the 987th time. I can’t wait to see another football player, on cue, say “Hi, Mom” on a close-up after a touchdown. I hope all those mothers appreciate it.

Anyway, football cannot get here too soon for me. I am going out right now to buy a brandy flask, a seat cushion and a set of binoculars to look at football’s fabulous males and females. I do not know what other people do for fun in August. Probably go swimming or something stupid like that.