Of COurse, It’s NOt LIfe Or Death . . . Football Is More Important Than That. Football. Religion. Politics. Barbeque. In the South where I live, these are the four pillars that support our culture like giant Stonehenge rocks. Each of these topics is the source of never-ending debate that goes deep into the night and continues year after year and generation after generation. Everyone has an opinion on these cultural touchstones, and few are averse to sharing them. Football fans are infamously vocal, and they often ratchet up the game-day intensity by applying body paint and don-ning team colors—with varying degrees of tastefulness. This can get out of hand. I once attended a funeral for an LSU fan who was buried, at his request, in an LSU jersey with matching Mardi Gras beads. His coffin was purple and gold. Down here, football trash talk continues year-round and heats up in front of God and everybody. Church foy-ers, grocery store aisles, bars, restaurants, tornado shelters— anywhere people congregate, we talk. Lord, do we talk. We pass down our team prejudices and snobberies to our children along with overbites, bushy eyebrows and whatever ailments run in the family. Football is the touchiest sub-ject of all. No question about it. I’d much rather debate theology, barbecue joints or political par-ties with you. Normal people get over those dust-ups, but football is viewed as Armageddon. It inspires intense loyalties, fierce rivalries and lifelong feuds. Occasionally, one of our football fans actually loses his or her mind. Throw-downs ensue. Blood is spilled. Sportsmanlike conduct is conspicuously absent. It’s embarrassing. I bet if I did the research, I could document an up-tick in emergency room visits based on the win-loss record of football teams across the nation. I per-sonally know people who feel that no Thanksgiving holiday is truly satisfactory if no one has been wrestled to the ground in retaliation for a disparaging team comment. I’d like to say that this bloodthirsty fanaticism is limited to humans with a Y chromosome, but that’s simply not true. I know plenty of women, renowned for their good manners and ladylike behavior, who come unglued during football season. I’ve seen these paragons of female virtue turn into ranting harpies when they suspect a little home cooking in a holding penalty that just happens to call back a touchdown for their beloved alma mater’s team. We take football seriously. We plan weddings, heart surgeries and hair-coloring appointments around game-day kick-offs. When my youngest child was scheduled for delivery during the Iron Bowl, I panicked. What kind of loser would be on call in the hospital during the game? At best, it would be a young physician. I figured I’d be lucky if he or she had previous experience delivering pup-pies—much less a real, live baby. I could die alone in the delivery room if I went into labor in an overtime situation. When I found out this issue of The Key was covering Ohio State fans cheer the Buckeyes to a 66-0 win against Kent State. danielle hixenbaugh 22 | Fall 2014