Double eviction night (squared)

Tonight’s double eviction on Big Brother 8 was well advertised (more on that later), but who knew I’d be in for a twofer when I headed for my son’s 9th grade football game in Iowa City.

While I was pleased, at least, that there was no admission charge, (though I had cash in pocket, just in case) I would gladly have paid West High parents to work the chains. Instead, we were given jersey-wearing West High sophomores who made up the most ill-equipped chain gang I’ve ever seen. These guys made the referees look competent – no small feat.

Anyway, I brought my work camera and opted to roam the sidelines shooting photos. The first three quarters weren’t very photogenic as the Warriors battled the Trojans to a 0-0 tie. The green-and-gold clad chain gain grew increasingly vocal – and partisan – as the game wore on.

The game ended with a fourth quarter flurry. West strikes first with a three-yard touchdown run. Extra point makes it 7-0 with maybe five minutes left. The Warriors answer with an eight-yard touchdown pass and take timeout before failing to convert an unimaginative two-point conversion attempt with two minutes left. West 7, Wash 6. West works the clock to :20 and, facing a fourth-and-five, opts to punt for the first time in the game.

You know the rest. The punt is blocked. Wash inherits the ball in striking distance. Center snap is fumbled, but the electrifying quarterback picks it up, scrambles, heaves a prayer into the end zone to the biggest hands-of-stone player on the team. Touchdown! Warriors win 12-7.

Meanwhile, two friends of the chain gang have joined their teammates on our sideline. I see them talking smack to our players – oh the profanity these days – and roaming our bench at will. Not surprisingly, they address our star player directly, and within arm’s reach.

Instinctively, I shoo them away, noting they have no business on our sideline. They suggest that they’re helping the chain gain, but we all know it’s not true, and they comply. That was before our first score.

As the play clock winds down, they become increasingly brazen to the point I have to shoo them away again, only this time they’re less threatened by the old man with the camera. Short of calling one of them a punk, I maintained my cool (thank you blood pressure meds) even as they asked me to take their picture. (In hindsight, that would have been good evidence to send along with my e-mail to the athletics director.)

A post-game meal at The Vine (not the neighborhood bar where I spent most of my student loans but the mega-sports-bar one on the strip) allowed us to rehash higher aspects of the game and watch Indianapolis and New Orleans kick of the NFL season on larger-than-life screens.

Then it was home for two weeks of Big Brother wrapped into a single episode (has the TIVO/DVR inventor won the Nobel Prize yet?). Finally, the pace quickens! “Someone’s going to have a panic attack,” I tell my wife, not sure if I mean Jameka, Eric or me.

In a made-for-reality-TV series of events, cheerleader Jessica and “America’s player” and oddball boyfriend Eric are sent packing – finally!, mercifully! (Given US voting history, I can’t believe CBS would leave it in our hands to decide such things as who he should kiss or vote to evict .)

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

Woo, woo, woo!