First published in the Tri-Town Transcript Oct 19, 2018
By Esther C. Baird
I was covered in blisters, my daughter had scraped knuckles, and we were all cranky. Every time I leaned over to try and work, a giant, bright, glittery, star-shaped balloon hit me in the face.
“Get this thing out of my way or I’m going to pop it, inhale the helium, and yell at everyone in an even crazier voice!!” I snapped as I threw my full strength into the small screw that was threatening to undo me. My older daughter was no longer speaking at that point, and our youngest daughter had long since left the room for any place other than near us. We had come to this moment of calamity because, if I’m honest, I still don’t understand sports.
I’m a team mom, sure. Our girls play three seasons of sports, so I enthusiastically watch and cheer them on. But it hasn’t rewired my brain to intuitively understand what’s happening. Put me in a theology quiz bowl and I will dominate, but ask me what a wing-guard is versus a striker and I will distract and deflect. Old Testament history, anyone?
I’m not sure why this is harder for me — why some people just get the concept of offsides deep in their bones, almost like gravity. Or they know when to cheer “good goal” versus “great shot” verses “shazam!” (That was a trick. It’s never OK to yell “shazam!” but see, I had to learn that, it didn’t come naturally.)
But I try, which is why I agreed with my daughters, that for my husband’s birthday, we’d surprise him a foosball table.
Assembly was, if not exciting, at least straight forward. We built and fastened, we added heads to necks and feet to bars, we placed handles and caps on ends, and when it was done, it looked remarkably like a foosball table. Success! We tied giant bright balloons onto the table and set up the surprise reveal.
My husband loved it. It was a great gift and right away he wanted to play the girls. I heard the normal cheers and hollers while I did something creative and amazing in the kitchen like heat up rice.
Then they came barreling in. Very politely and calmly my husband said. “It’s great! It’s the perfect gift. There’s just one thing…”
I stopped him. “No. There is nothing wrong with it. It’s a foosball table. I did every single thing right. There is nothing I could mess up!”
He took a deep breath, “Well you build it for left-handled players, and, as you know, I’m right handed. We’re all right-handed in our family.”
I know what hands we all use! For heaven’s sakes, I’m the mother! There was no directional handedness in foosball!!
I stated that back to him. “There is no such thing with foosball. Just turn the table around. Or, walk the two feet around to the other side.”
“No,” he said, “you installed the handles so that we’re defending with our left hand instead of our right, it even shows it on the diagram, I checked.”
Well, wasn’t that so helpful.
I couldn’t conceive of what he meant. “Half the handles are on one side, half are on the other. Just use your right hand.”
“But the line of men is set to have an offense and a defense, and you want to stand so that you’re defending and shooting the ball by spinning, or pulling up, with your right hand. You built it in the mirror image of how it should be.” He explained.
So many words. They made absolutely not one shred of sense. It was mirror image alright, and I lived on the other side of the looking glass. To be perfectly honest, even as I type this having lived out the ending in real life, it still hardly makes sense.
The second round of fixing the table was less fun as noted at the beginning of this column. At one point I was using a potholder and a foot-long crescent wrench as we took off all 26 player heads. Those heads were on tight, while conversely, my head was about to explode. We repositioned everything to its mirror image and then put all 26 players back together.
The table is fixed now. Though I’m not declaring victory till my husband and daughter play a game and make sure all the intangible, but obvious-to-them, sports qualities are properly represented.
I’ll be sitting, offsides, on the couch probably drinking a glass of wine with my left hand and cheering them on. Shazam!