Are We There Yet?
She's got an encroacher in her very own family
Lori Clinch

After giving birth to a house full of them, I've learned that the male of the species thinks about one thing and one thing only - sports.

They live them, breathe them, and when push comes to shove on the football field of life, they call a penalty, move the ball back five yards and repeat third down.

The first time I witnessed a real case of sports obsession, my husband and I had only been dating a couple of months. The man I had known to be kind and gentle was sitting in his recliner and looked nothing like the man with whom I had just had dinner. His jaw was set, his eyes were fierce and he was concentrating on the TV as if his will, and his will alone, could win the game.

A person who normally had the demeanor of Ghandi suddenly screamed out criticisms, made observations, and talked like a mad man. I was certain that I was dating Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. And once we had little apples, I'll tell you this: they didn't fall far from the tree.

Now some folks just love Bowl Week. And don't get me wrong, I love football as much as any woman who has been bored and ignored by a family of men who become glued to the TV.

But let's just say, for a minute, that my family's team doesn't have a winning season. Don't shoot me, just go with me for a minute. What if the quarterback's passing game never develops, what if the receiver pulls a hamstring, and heaven forbid, can't leap to the heavens for the winning touchdown? What if I have to spend an entire season with a house full of people who feel as though losing a bowl game would be the end of the world?

When the teams that the boys so dearly love lose their bowl games, the entire house grieves. No one will talk to anyone. Children will cry. Adolescents will lie on their bellies and have been known to kick and call out, "Why, why, why?" And still others will go to their rooms and refuse to show their faces until the fall.

And the last few seconds ticking off the clock in the fourth quarter are only the beginning. There's the moment immediately following the game where we get to hear the ESPN guys re-hash the whole event as they enjoy a fantastic debate. Then there's the "Post Game Show," "The Football Wrap-Up Show," "The Coach's Explanation Show," and my personal favorite, the "I Could Have Played It Better" phone-in show.

The worst part of it all is that I'm unable to engage in dinner conversation during Bowl Week. Despite the fact that I've whipped up mashed potatoes and turned out a fine pot roast, I'm unqualified to join discussions and roost with the family simply because I don't know what the heck a crab block is.

Take last night for instance. Just when I thought that I'd learned all I needed to know and could actually follow a football/dinner conversation, one of the kids went and threw out a new term - encroaching.

Color me enlightened.

Always being one who is eager to learn and anxious to discover new things to make fun of, I decided to delve into the thick of things and rang up my son's football coach and asked him what, if anything, encroaching meant.

At first the coach was evasive. He wondered why I didn't ask my own family, wondered why I wouldn't know these things, and most importantly, he wondered why I would bother him on a Sunday. Then he finally said, "Well, I'll tell you this, your son has been guilty of it a time or two, and that's all I'm going to say."

He just blurted it out like that, too.

Imagine finding out firsthand that your child is an encroacher. I was devastated. You would think that if my own offspring were running around encroaching people, that someone would have called. Do you suppose there's a support group? Perhaps a little crew of people who meet and say to others, "My name is whatever, and I'm the parent of an encroacher."

Perhaps we could start an assemblage. I'm sure that you, as well as others, may want to join, because if my own young son has been encroaching behind my back, I'll bet your sons were involved.

We'll meet for the first time next Thursday at your house. I'll bring the crab blocks.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch.com.