A Sunday in November

I TIVO’d through the Bears’ game yesterday while riding the exercycle. Say this about Justin Fields—he keeps things interesting, as in 147 yards rushing with two touchdowns and another two touchdowns to tight end Cole Kmet. Maybe next time the Munsters won’t lose to Detroit. When you go up by two touchdowns in the third quarter, you’re not supposed to lose, 31-30. Later, we drove to my mother-in-law’s to celebrate her ninety-first birthday; the stories she could tell, though none of them unrelated to her husband involve football. My father-in-law played high school football before playing infantryman on the icy-cold hills of the Korean peninsula. The stories he could tell about either. I was able to handle Ed O’Bradovich and Dan Hampton on the radio for about ten minutes before I had to turn them off. O’Bradovich never changes; he basically wants to shoot anyone not named Ditka. Hampton, at least, thinks Fields is a keeper. Danimal was particularly impressed that, an hour after the game, Fields still hadn’t gotten out of his uniform, he was so upset at losing. Hampton also thinks the best defense is a ball-control offense. Score points while taking your time doing it. How O’Bradovich keeps from having a stroke is beyond me. It’s only a game, Ed. Let me introduce you to a woman who has seen it all in her ninety-one years. She knows what matters in life. What happens on a Sunday afternoon at Soldier Field might not qualify.