My brother Zion is into this sport called football. I don’t really understand the concept, but it’s something like this.
See that ball? Apparently everybody on that field, wants that ball. And while they’re playing, it has to be that ball, not any one of the hundreds of others they could easily lay their hands on at Walmart.
There are a lot of tense moments during the game. Stand-offs, where no one actually moves, they all squat and stare at a ball which is remaining perfectly still. Then someone throws it, and all heck breaks loose.
Usually, someone eventually catches the oddly shaped ball and then runs with it for a second or two, but apparently deciding that they really don’t know what to do with it after all, the person throws it to a nearby team-mate, who does pretty much the same thing, all while dodging various people who are determined to get their hands and that ball.
There’s some other terminology involved, words like Hike, and Hut, and Quarter Backer and Line Backer, but I’m not really sure how these terms fit into the game. Zion has tried to impress these terms on me, and even demonstrated them numerous times in my kitchen, but I’m afraid it’s all a little beyond me. Sophie seems to be picking it up, though.
Apparently, Zion is showing some real aptitude for this sport (due, in no small part, to all the tussles we all had as children over various objects, including the occasional ball). He has been participating in a summer camp to help prepare for some official games over the fall.
The team is a community team, comprised of homeschoolers, private schoolers, and public schoolers. The dream is that someday it will consist of home and private school kids.
Dad has been acting as an assistant coach during the camp.
Until they get their official uniforms, all their jerseys say “11” on the back. Which makes cheering really easy and fool proof. “Go number 11! You’re the best player out there! Woo-Hoo!!!”