ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL?

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I remember a lot of things from high school. Mostly, I remember a lot of girls were far too cool to talk to me, something that I carry with me to this day. But I also remember something from history class. I remember that way back when in, I think, England or somewhere, in-laws were always at each other’s throats, often literally as they tried to behead one another. Basically, in-laws have historically received a bad rap.

But I don’t think that’s fair. So far as I know, my in-laws have yet to try and separate my head from body, for which I am eternally grateful. But it doesn’t stop there, nosirree. My in-laws are constantly doing nice things for me, things that make me question just why they are so happy for me to be married to their daughter. Hopefully, they’re not thinking something like, "Well, perhaps the judge will go lightly on her once they see how well adjusted she is now. Plus, who doesn’t have six goat heads buried in their backyard?"

The most recent nice thing came in the form of a Christmas present of Atlanta Falcons playoff tickets. Although I have been a Falcons fan for all of my life, this was a gift that was unthinkable until this year. Typically, if I wanted to see the Falcons during the playoffs, I would have to go to each player’s house individually. (Authorities always got involved before I got through the first few houses.)

When my wife and I first arrived at the Georgia Dome, my first thought was, "Where’s the dart board they used to randomly pick out the colors for this thing?" For those of you have not been to the Georgia Dome, its outside is a sort of peach and kind of a purple and what could have once been a green and bunch of other almost-colors that just don’t belong together. (Think Dennis Rodman.) But a simple color combo was not going to deter me. I was there to see the Falcons take on the evil San Francisco 49ers, so I could not be distracted.

We got to our seats about two hours before the game and made the conclusion that her father must have some pictures of Falcons senior management having intimate relations with a parrot or something, because these seats were incredible. We were in the corner of the endzone, only 24 rows back. From our vantage point, we had an excellent survey of the field, one that would allow us to watch all of the plays pan out. Plus, we were two seats from the aisle, so we had a prime beer-getting spot.

Perhaps the only negative side of the game was the collection of numbskulls who sat behind us. There were four college guys (guys who would have been my buddies and me a few years ago) who found themselves in a serious dilemma -- the beers were only 32 ounces, so there is no way that a single one would last them during their long, parching journey back to their seats. So, each would buy about three at a time. Well, after a few of those triple beers, their ability to balance the beers started to slip, and the beer began to spill.

It culminated in grand fashion with the guy next to me getting a full beer dumped down his back. He was not happy. The guy spun around and started getting on to the guys and said, "I don’t drink! I don’t like to smell like beer!" I thought this was odd, because I do drink, and I would prefer to not smell like beer as well. I have done an informal survey of my beer-drinking friends, and none of them like smelling like beer either. (One friend said that if beer were an alternative to other smells, he would consider it. I stopped listening before he could elaborate.)

Needless to say, that little incident was hardly enough to dampen our spirits, even if it was enough to dampen the guy’s coat next to me. As I’m sure you know, the Falcons prevailed, despite the efforts of the referees who, I’m fairly sure, are not only from San Francisco, but must have partial ownership and may very well be Steve Young’s dad or something. If you were watching the game, you know what I am talking about. Bad refs! Bad, bad refs! No treat!

When the game was over, my wife and I decided to hang around the dome for a while. We did this for two reasons: (1) We could let traffic thin out a little bit and (2) we were getting a live version of "Cops" when fans would run out on the field and the security guards would treat them with the kind of respect normally reserved for Larry Flynt at a Jerry Falwell family reunion.

When we left the game, we went back to my father-in-law’s house. My wife and I were both exhausted from a thoroughly thrilling day. I had gotten to attend an NFL playoff game, my beloved Falcons had won, and I got to see people gang tackled and handcuffed my angry security officers. My father-in-law was eager to hear our accounts of the game, which we were happy to oblige since he was kind enough to give his tickets to us. He said that he was going to have a time topping that gift next Christmas. I simply reminded him that next year’s Super Bowl is being held in Atlanta. I just hope I’m not sitting in front of those same guys.