Honey? Why Do They Call It A Pigskin?

Honey? Why do they call it a Pigskin?

         Maggie never pretended to understand football, but she always made the effort while watching the Ravens' games with me. I must admit, that impressed me. I’ve dated other women that could have cared less and made no bones about it. When the games were on, they’d find some “girl” things to do. But not Maggie. She’d sit with me and try her best to understand the ins and outs of the game by asking timely questions.

         “Honey? Why did those guys in red jump on that other guy like that?"

         “They wanted to tackle the ball-carrier.”

         “Oh.... Well, why did they want to do that? He didn’t do anything to them.”

         So through the entire first season, it was:

         What's a down?
         Why is the ball shaped like an egg?
         If they have four downs, why do they only use three?
         That one team has prettier uniforms.
         If the field is a hundred yards long, why does it only go to fifty?
         What makes special teams, special?
         I'm confused. Is it a down? Or a play?
         Do these jeans make me look fat?
         If there's only two minutes left, why does it take ten minutes?
         Are their shoulders really that big?

         It was a long first year, to say the least.

         So, through the first season, she learned that the idea of the game was to advance the football – or pigskin as it’s known in the trade – from one end of the field to the other in an attempt to score a touchdown. That, being worth six points, and the kick through the uprights being worth one, except if it was a field goal, which was worth three.

         “Oh.... Well, why is one kick worth one, and the other worth three?”

         “Because, honey, once they make the touchdown, it can only be worth one point. If they can’t make a touchdown, they can kick a field goal which is worth three.” I thought better of delving into the realm of safeties and the two-point conversion. I didn't want her to go into overload.

         “Oh.... How much is a touchdown, again?”

         “Six.”

         “Well, why don’t they just make touchdowns all the time?”

         “Because the defense tries to keep them from doing that. And if they do, the offense tries to kick a field goal for three points. Do you understand?”

         "Yes, sort of. But what happens if they miss?”

         “Then the other team gets the ball from where it was kicked and it’s their turn to try to make a touchdown.”

         “Oh.... And what’s that worth?”

         Good grief. “Six points, honey.”

         “Oh.”

         Needless to say, explaining the more subtle points of the game was going to happen sometime in the future; sometime far in the future, which came sooner than I would have liked.

         So, at the beginning of the 2006 season, The Ravens had already won their season opener by defeating the Tampa Bay Buccaneers 27 - 0. A shutout – rare in football. I had scheduled vacation for us during the second week of September and we were in Ocean City, Maryland when the Ravens took on the Oakland Raiders at home for their second game of the regular season. We were at a bar for the expressed purpose of watching the game. The Ravens were winning 9 - 0 and I needed to go to the bathroom.

         “Why were those guys holding hands?” she asked, when I returned.

         “What guys?” She was talking about football players, after all, and I had no idea what she was referring to.

         “A guy kicked the ball to the other guy, and four other guys stood in front of him holding hands.”

         “On the kickoff?”

         “I guess.”

         I looked at the screen and the Ravens were on their own 25 yard line. “Oh, they were setting up to block. They hold hands to keep from getting too far apart. It’s called a wedge.”

         “A wedge?" She asked, excitedly. "Like a wedge of cheese?”

         Maggie tries to relate everything to the Food Network.

         So we sat and watched as the Ravens increased their lead over the Raiders. The Raiders scored a pair of field goals, but the score was 25 - 6 when I went to the bathroom again.

         When I came back, I asked Maggie what happened while I was gone.

         “Well, they all stood in a circle and cuddled, and then one guy kicked the ball again.”

         “Sweetie, that's huddled. What kind of kick? A punt?”

         “I don’t know,” she said, completely serious. “But he kicked it from where nobody would bother him.”

         Apparently, a crash course is a must before Super Bowl.

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