So it’s a gorgeous Saturday afternoon in Madison, and Henry and Kaj are about to tear up Dad and Sonja’s condo with their pent-up energy. . . stirred up at least in part by the SpongeBob Squarebacks nerf-like footballs that Kathy and I gave to each of them upon our arrival the night before. So the ever-willing, ever-enthusiastic Matt takes them out in the yard to play some football. . . and although I’m delighted to be quietly perched at the kitchen counter, planning Sunday afternoon’s music program, I’m plagued by this nagging sense that I’m seriously shirking my duties as an uncle.  So I put my stuff aside, pull up my pants so as not to have them end up around my ankles- which would have been an unfortunate turn of events for me as well as for anyone unlucky enough to witness such a sight – and go out into the yard for a bit of gridiron glory.

I suggest just throwing the ball around, but both Kaj and Henry are insistent that we actually play a game- and moreover, they want it to be the two of them against Matt and me.  That really says something about how much they respect their Uncle Greg’s football prowess= that they actually believe that my staggering ineptitude will more than offset Matt’s skill and strength and give them a reasonable chance to win.  But I swallow my righteous indignation and we accept.

It’s immediately evident that neither of the boys has the slightest idea how football is actually played, despite the fact that Henry is proudly wearing his Seattle Seahawks sweatshirt.  Neither of them has the slightest idea that when someone is tackled, the play is over.  They have no sense of first down/ second down etc.  They have no notion that this is our goal line over here and theirs is over there – and that you don’t just get to run towards the goal line that’s closest to you at the time.

But boy can they run!   And kick!  And pass!  And they even have a pretty good instinct for cooperating with each other.  (they hardly fight at all over whose turn it is to throw or receive.)   And little Kaj keeps perfect track of the score once we’ve established about halfway through the game that they are ahead 16 to nothing.  From that point on, every time they score another “touchdown”  Kaj dutifully adjusts the score accordingly.   .   . that is, by adding one point.   By the end,  Matt and I have made a valiant attempt but are on the losing end of a 22-3 score.  Henry is delighted with the final score, but it’s interesting how genuinely unhappy he is with each of the three touchdowns that Matt and I manage to eak out.  (Clearly he was hoping for a shutout.)  And Kaj is so incredibly fast on those two deformed feet of his that he seems more like the Bionic Man.  For sure he gets around the football field a whole lot more impressively than his Uncle Greg, whose quarter-ton frame seems ready to sink into the damp ground with every step and who seems three steps closer to a hip replacement with every step he takes.  Matt would have been better off with Whistler’s Mother as a partner, but I’m all he’s got.   But he continues to smile and continues to display that incredible gift of his to make whatever we’re doing so much more fun than it would otherwise be.

So when was the last time I played even ten seconds of football?  Try 30 years ago, and gym class during my junior year in high school.  Since then I have thrown a baseball around and played plenty of tennis, but no football whatsoever.  So thank God for young nephews whose tireless, joyous enthusiasm is enough to draw even this King of the Couch Potatoes out onto the field of play.