The Four Stages of Watching Sports with Annabelle

Watching sports with Annabelle is a sport in itself. Or more of a game, really -- a game that ends the same way every time.

Every weekend, without fail, this happens:

Stage 1: The Decision  

Me: “Okay, Dad’s going to go downstairs watch a little (insert sport.)”
Annabelle: “I want to watch (insert sport)!”

Doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it’s TV. It could be water polo, actual polo, or the world paper airplane championships and Annabelle would be dutifully by my side on the couch. It’s usually basketball, football, tennis, or golf, but I get the sense that she doesn’t really care.

Stage 2: Choosing Sides

And within seconds of sitting down, this transpires:

Annabelle: “Are you rooting for the white team or the blue team?” (I’m making up the colors and the particular game for the sake of the story.)
Me: “Ah, the white team. I’ve always liked them.”
Annabelle: “Okay, I’ll cheer for the white team. … We don’t like the blue team, right?”
Me: “Well, it’s not that we don’t like them. We just like the white team more.”
Annabelle: “But we don’t like the blue team, right?”
Me: “Sure.”

She then announces to Bridget—or whoever is around—that we are cheering for the white team and that we dislike the blue team a great deal. Why we have to really like one team and really dislike another team is a mystery to me, but that’s fine. Point is, we’re cheering together.

Stage 3: Scoring and Jumping 

We then watch for, oh, maybe four minutes. Maybe five.

Then this happens:

Annabelle: “Is the white team winning?”
Me: “No, not yet. They’re down by 10.”

Thirty seconds elapse.

Annabelle: “Is the white team winning?”
Me: “Nope, still down 10.”

Fifteen seconds elapse.

Annabelle: “Is the white winning?”
Me: “Not yet.”

Then, the jumping begins. Annabelle, who is clearly not as impressed as I am about a well-run half-court offense begins jumping from the ottoman to the couch. Again. And again. And again.

Stage 4: The End 

Me: “Honey, I can’t see with you jumping everywhere.”
Annabelle: “Can we watch Daniel Tiger now?”
Me: “Well, let’s just watch this for a bit. I really want to see this game.”

Jumping. Jumping. Jumping. Jumping.

Annabelle: “Now can we watch Daniel Tiger?”

And then, usually, we stop watching sports. All four stages usually take about 15 minutes, sometimes 10, and I suppose I should get annoyed. I do sometimes, especially if Syracuse is playing or it’s close game in the fourth quarter.

Someday, I’m certain, we’ll watch a whole game together. She’ll sit with me, cheer for my favorite team with me, and ask a bunch of new questions. And a small piece of me with miss watching Daniel Tiger.