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 |  Here I go down a rabbit hole. What will I encounter? What will I write? Viva l'imagination |
| PROMPT: Favourite sports team? If 'yes', give reasons why you're a die-hard fan. Take us through the highs and lows. Also, what team can you not stand? Create a blog or story. Maybe I'm odd, but I must confess I do not have a favourite sport, or team. Nope, I do not choose to follow sports. Perhaps I'm not competitive, or emotionally vested? Now, if I currently reclined on a therapist's couch, I'd blurt out that I suffer still from horrendous flashbacks. Of course, this is a mother memory, and bless her soul, her actions scarred me for life. I hear her screaming and throwing objects, usually something conveniently at hand such as a pillow. She'd argue with the referees, or umpires, or whatever the officials were called. It did not matter that her opinion carried no weight and could not possibly be heard, let alone considered. She jumped to her feet in response to a bad call. With a replay, she'd march up to the television screen in search of a better vantage point. Her arms would wave and swing. My Mother became a mad woman, a rabid fan. Her two favourite sports were hockey and baseball. As far as I know, Mom never played either of these sports. No relative could claim to be a professional participant either. Hockey Night in Canada meant vacate the house to me. As soon as I heard the opening strains of that program's signature music, I bolted. Mom ensconced herself in the basement recreation room and nothing else mattered while a game unfurled. With two sets of doors firmly closed, I'm sure the neighbours could hear her. "What noise? Oh that scream? Oh, no, no one is being attacked. That's our neighbour, Carol. Yes, the one with four kids. She's a bit of a sports fan, easily excitable. Oh, she's fine. Nothing to get worked up about. We pray there isn't any overtime. Most of the time, the game ends before we retire for the night. Well, yes, we agree. Her screams are indeed frightful." I also have a history as a klutz. Everyday activities prove challenging and often times harrowing enough without my considering actual attempts at sports. Walking and sitting test my balance and endurance. After a few accidents with sneaky chairs, I'm still leery of them. I always approach with caution, striving to gauge the mood of the furniture. Years ago, I opted to read and write, much safer pursuits for me. Sigh. Hubby is a diehard Nascar fan. Oh, there really is nothing to compare to the rumble and screeching of a race car. The entire house shakes with the reverberations. For some unknown reason, my partner-for-life does not wish to carry on a conversation during a race. To say his attention is elsewhere is an understatement. Those zooming, spewing, belching vehicles mesmerize him. He's under a spell of some sort, incapable of noticing anything else. The room could be filled with dense toxic smoke and his armchair could be spitting flames, and he'd be waving them away to see the screen. Like my mother, he too whoops and hollers. So, as I wrote a few lines ago, nope, I'm not a sports fan. I am just doomed to live with one.( 544 words ) |
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