While University of Kentucky fans took to the streets of Lexington Saturday night rioting and burning otherwise perfectly good, if beer-stained, couches along the Avenue of Champions and chanting something about a Big Blue Nation defeating cross-state rivals Louisville Cardinals and perhaps even ruling the entire world, I sat at home in my recliner, declining the option of hauling the old Lazy Boy out onto 4th Street and setting it on fire.
Why, you ask? Why this lack of action on my part? Why my unwillingness to engage in civil disobedience for the sake of my alma mater, why this refusal to sacrifice my seat, complete with built-in foot rest and reclining capabilities, on the flaming altar that is the Big Blue Mania?
I could blame this regrettable inactivity on old age, of course, since I turned 50 this past week—osteoporosis and lack of muscle mass making the moving of family room furniture onto the streets impossible, not to mention not being able to remember where I stashed the matches. But actually, it’s something else entirely.
You see, I’ve been advised by medical professionals and sports enthusiasts alike, that I should not watch basketball, not because it’s hard on my heart or elevates my aging blood pressure, but because it causes me to curse.
My partner Sara says I swear in my sleep, but from what I can tell, it’s way worse when I watch Wildcat basketball.
And the irony in this is that I don’t like game.
Who wants to watch a bunch of ball-bouncing men running up and down a court, sweating and attempting to get said balls through hoops at either end of an otherwise perfectly good wood floor that been defaced with paint? Who paints a floor like that?
Seriously. What I wouldn’t do to have those very hard woods in my home on 4th Street!
Which is exactly where I cursed up a storm on Saturday night, watching the Cats take on the Cards in the first game of the Final Four. It was a crazy, profanity-laced scene in our library in downtown Lexington.
But then maybe that tells you just how much of a basketball fan I am not. I watched the game from a book-filled room with a Dr. Seuss dog draped around my neck.
Or, now that I think about it, maybe that does have something to do with old age or, for those of you who know my mental health history, what we could call dementia-induced, Big Blue Madness.
What do you think? Did you watch the game on Saturday?
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