Football and fairs

Two things are making their annual return around the end of this month and the beginning of September. One, I’m looking forward to with great anticipation. The other, not so much. Not that I dread it; let’s just say time and retirement have curbed my enthusiasm where this second thing is concerned.

The first to which I refer, of course, is college football. I, along with countless others, have been suffering through this summer of our discontent, waiting for teams to take to the gridiron again. Even the pandemic will seem less bad if we can watch our favorite teams knock the slobber out of each other.

Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but I’ve begun to grow a little weary of the replays of old games on the SEC Network. Some of the games were historic, it’s true, but the fact that they’re historic means the viewer knows how it ended. But I still watch, because – well, because it’s football. And college football is all that interests me.

Somehow, professional football doesn’t float my boat. Don’t know why, it just doesn’t. Maybe it’s because of all the money and egos involved.

Having said that, I can’t help but wonder if college football is on its way to becoming nothing more than a minor professional league, itself – something that some complainers are claiming is already happening. And I wonder how I’ll feel about college football if and when that really does happen. I do worry a bit about conferences becoming “super conferences” and where that may lead.

Be that as it may, it hasn’t happened yet that I can see, and this year I’m ready for some college football. And I don’t expect anything to ruin it. At least not yet. Scandal or Covid-19 could raise their ugly heads, but for now we can all hold on to the hope that everything is going to be great.

The other thing, the one I’m not so enthusiastic over, is the St. Francis County Fair. No offense meant to the fair organizers, but it’s just not the same as it used to be.

There was a time, when I had to go to the fair, usually a couple of times during its run, camera in hand. It was my job, and it was also my co-workers’ job. One of us had to be there every night. There were beauty pageants and talent shows to be covered, and exhibits, and crowd photos, not to mention cute kid pictures to be taken on the midway.

Today, the fair isn’t my job, and after so many years of having to do, I just don’t feel inclined to attend. Also, I don’t have any kids to drag me to the fair, and Alice isn’t big on fairs. I don’t have any entries in horticulture or any of the other contests –never have, never will. And the last midway I went to didn’t have my favorite ride, the Tilt-A-Whirl.

So if I go to the fair nowadays, chances are the only thing I’ll end up doing is eating stuff that’s not good for me. And those things will be there in abundance. True, funnel cakes and foot long Polish sausages are wondrous things to behold and to taste, but I do enough unhealthy eating as it is, and I just don’t need to expose myself to all that temptation.

So I may stay clear of the fair this year. Anyone out there, If you go, think of me while you tear into that funnel cake.

•••••

Alas, Alice’s and my birthdays are coming up. They’re only one day apart, which comes in handy most years, partly because it makes them easy to remember. And partly because I’ll just fix one big dinner on one of the days and we’ll pig out like there’s no tomorrow.

However, this year I’ve messed up things, for both of us. I’m having some much needed dental work done, of the type that leaves one with a tender mouth. And that tender mouth will be tender on our birthdays, and days before, and days after. Even weeks, so extensive is the work.

I’m upset about it, and poor Alice is sorely disappointed, maybe a little upset with me over the timing. This is because we had decided that no matter how much they cost, we were going to have steaks this year. Steaks, while we have had them before (not much recently) would be a first for our birthday bash. In the past, we’ve had ribs, or a pork roast, or Cornish hens, always with all the trimmings, but this year it was going to be steak. Off the grill. I could taste it.

Then this came up. I’ve promised Alice that there is a steak dinner in our future, if not to celebrate our birthdays, at least to celebrate the end of my dental work. I hope I’m forgiven.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: David Nichol is a freelance writer who retired from the Times-Herald. He can be contacted at nicholdb@cablelynx.com.)