POPCORN, PIZZA AND BEER

Football is back! Last season's withdrawal pains have been replaced by wild anticipation. We are no longer deprived of this almighty sport.

The off season was like being divorced from our only true loves, but our lives have been saved. Now, the networks are loaded with pictures of 350-pound musclemen banging their heads together like rams fighting for the rights to a ewe. Wonderful! I feel like I've been released from my abstinence vows. Now pizza and beer will keep us alive for the rest of the year. Even my wife goes along although I occasionally catch her reading about Rosie the Rover, Suzzy the Sexpot, or Hillary Clinton during the half time or during slow moments.

I am a certified football addict. I'm glued to the TV from Friday evening until Tuesday morning, with a few extra replays thrown in for good measure. I cling to the games like a fanatic obsession. I'm lucky, though. As long as I let my wife watch her soapies, she grudgingly goes along for the ride. She's even learning a few basic terms like touchdown and tackle. By Christmas, I hope to educate her on the difference between a quarterback and a cornerback, although I'm not sure I know the right answer myself.

Being a togetherness couple, we both have season tickets in front of the tube. We are much too practical to pay the exorbitant prices the stadiums demand. Besides, our stuffed recliners are much more comfortable than bleacher seats. At home, we never get splinters in our more private parts and we never get doused with buckets of beer during sub-zero weather.

When winter blows in, we laugh at the blizzards although we occasionally feel sorry for the men on the field. However, our pity is quickly curtailed when we think of the money they make.

Being retired and on limited income, we also enjoy hoarding our funds. Every week, we save $500 on stadium seats, $50 on the bumpy bus rides, and $200 each on the popcorn, pizza and beer. We enjoy seconds and occasionally thirds without having to take out a loan at the bank.

When we went to the stadium, we had to gulp down our snacks. Even then, the pizza got cold before we worked our way to the crust, and the brews got warm before we could slurp off the foam. In our own little apartment, the fridge and the microwave oven prevent crises like those.

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