If you're a USC fan...stop reading now

Mr. Blogger and I are getting ready to head up to the Rose Bowl for today's UCLA game, so I'll have to make this short. Football does take precedence over everything, after all.

I love love love the Fall. OK, I may be somewhat influenced by the fact that my birthday just so happens to take place in this particular season, but I think it's more about that fact that it's the only time I am neither sweating nor freezing.

A crisp, clear fall afternoon has to be just about my favorite time. I love the colors, the smells...I was even the super-geek who was just SO DAMNED EXCITED that school was starting! A trip to get that year's new school supplies induced a completely euphoric sensory overload. It's kinda like the way I feel now in Sephora. Or Nordstrom's Half-Yearly Sale.

But what is the true raison d'être for a Fall afternoon? FOOTBALL!

I was raised by many, many aficionados of the game. My grandpa, The Finest Man Who Ever Lived, taught me just about everything I know about every kind of sport you can think of. To this day, I can even appreciate the intricacies of a boxing match. After raising nothing but sons, I think he forgot I was a girl. But that was ok by me. What other 12-year-old girly-girl knew that Scioscia ran like he had a piano on his back?

My father was a former player in high school (at 5'4 and about 130 pounds soaking wet, "I may have been small, but I had GREAT HANDS!"). OK, he went to USC and was a lifelong fan, but damn if I didn't realize from about age 2 that New Year's Day was meant for watching bowl games for about 12 hours straight.

Mom is a freakin' sight in the cheering section. Wearing headphones to listen to the play-by-play, a visor to block the scorching sun from hell that is the Rose Bowl UCLA Alumni Section and waving her 12th Bruin Towel like some kind of banshee, she can scream louder than even any man there.

But seeing as how I was a chick, my options were limited as far as playing goes. So of course I became a cheerleader. You may joke about my being a cheerleader/sorority girl/any other female cliche I probably also define, but I defy you to find someone who takes the game more seriously. When we lose, Mr. Blogger has learned that saying "It's only a game" is THE WRONG ANSWER. Or you ain't gettin' any tonight there, Mister.

Even MB however, British and a rugby-fan he may be, loves it. He knows the 8-clap, the Fight Song, and the proper way to make fun of USC.

And he has also learned that boy-oh-boy is his wife in a GOOD MOOD when we win. Anything is worth learning to reap the benefits of that.