My mom has never been much of a sports fan. Sports are my father’s domain. She likes the for aesthetic reasons (she loves fleur-de-lis), she tolerates the Eagles because they’re only on once a week, and she grinds her teeth when pitchers throw to first to hold a runner on base.
But then there’s.
My love ofcomes straight from my mom. When my mom was teaching, her students could always curry favor with her by bringing her Dan’s news clippings or football cards. By the time they both retired in 2000, my mom had a sizable shrine to No. 13 in her classroom. Every year, during her studies unit, she made sure one of her students did a report on the Pittsburgh native. Hysterical with joy (and drunk off my ass) I once called my mom to do play-by-play when Dan made a surprise appearance with a bunch of other Pitt football greats during halftime of a Pitt football game (“AAAA! MOMMY! IS HERE! AT THE FOOTBALL GAME! YES, RIGHT NOW! DAN! MY MOM AND I LOVE YOU!”)
We stay up late on Wednesday nights to watch Inside the NFL. We admire how devoted he is to autism research. We cried when he was inducted into the Hall of Fame. For obvious reasons, we imagine that we’d like his wife, Claire.
And we think he looks pretty damn good in royal blue…