I have never been an avid fan of football, but for particular matchups, I got “charged” to the point of hoarseness.

My following football memories are vicarious, as my only “hands-on” experience was neighborhood football in W.A. Cline’s front yard, about which I’ve previously written.

I watched some televised games in the early 1960s with my father and brother Joe, recalling the great Andy Robustelli, and when the great defensive tackle John Lovetere ran the ball (“ponderously”) until several men, “ant-like” by comparison, brought the big man down in group effort.

I remember Joe taking me to a Catawba game early on. Due to my height, I couldn’t see very much, but it was exciting! Always enjoying books, I enjoyed looking through the program, sometimes during, and after the game.

The glossy paper and pictures were accompanied with that particular “magazine smell.” New books have their scent, and so do magazines.

My next game was the one to which Rob Safrit (Chris and Glenna’s father) took us. I can’t recall whether “us” should be Scouts or Luther League; but both were, and are regular functions of my home church of Saint Paul’s.

I got excited over this game, to the best of my memory, between Catawba and Furman.

The next following weeks, anytime I ran into Mr. Safrit at church, he would say: “How’d you like that game?”

Some months ago, a friend and regular follower of football said to me: “How’d you like that game?” I had to questioningly answer, “what game?” But if Rob Safrit’s ghost were to suddenly appear, asking that same question of me in this, the sixth decade of my life, I would reply with absolute certainty: “Great!”

Before mentioning my memories of football at East Rowan, I must relate a family memory at Thanksgiving in the late 1960s, following my father’s (Bernard Williams) death. That particular Thanksgiving dinner was at my sister-in-law Sheila’s parents (Clifford and Hazel Bost). The food was wonderful, and I particularly remember Sheila’s father and me watching football and dozing off, one of the sleepers a veteran of World War II, the other a high school kid.

While the Bost’s little Pekingese, “Prissy” sat there, breathing her characteristically “snoring” sound while awake, Clifford and I may have “unconsciously” added the human equivalent.

My next football memory dates from my senior year at East.

I’m sitting (actually, standing) with the band, my sousaphone “wrapped” around me, and I’m looking down to the field’s far right (from East’s side, of course) during the last game of the season. The final seconds are ticking, the referee’s hands go up, and East wins the game and title, helped in no small part by that classic pair: “Yates and Yarborough.”

That phrase should become a standard of the English language, meaning “The best of all possible duos,” hearkening back to those classical examples in Greek and Roman mythology, i.e. Damon and Pythias. (If Mrs. Thayer Puckett is reading this from Mount Olympus, she will be glad that I have forgotten neither the mythology nor her.)

During those games at East (especially that one), some of my yelling at football games was done via my sousaphone, something audible by Yates, Yarborough and the whole team, way down on the one yard line.

While at Appalachian, I watched a couple of games, mainly those “energy-filled” clashes with Lenoir-Rhyne. One group performed a memorable chant from the Appalachian side. Good taste (and possible censoring) forbids my stating its entirety; but if your sense of rhyme is good (or even just mediocre) you will be able to complete it: “Cigarette ashes, cigarette butts, we’ve got LR by … !”

I’ve watched a few Super Bowls over the years, but mainly for the commercials and halftime programs. I wasn’t particularly looking for it, but did see the famous “wardrobe malfunction” of some years ago.

Last week at this time, I watched what I call “Super Bowl L.” In all previous years, it was expressed in Roman numerals (last year: “XXXXIX”) but this year, “50.” The powers that be evidently think we don’t know that in “Roman arithmetic” L equals 50 (another one for Mrs. Puckett).

This means that the minute hand of the “Dumbing-down Clock” has been moved one minute closer to midnight.

Living alone, I watched the game without “Super Bowl Platter,” just enjoying a bag of Doritos and some chili beans from Wendy’s.

During the game’s “time outs,” my football memories became “time on,” so I wrote them down.