3rd generation's the charm

"So are we going to Buffalo Wild Wings?" she asks, eyebrows raised, all please say yes.

"No, the game's on free TV," though I should've said already paid for, since I'd give anyone else crap for calling Dish free.

"Oh, well that's good," she says, though she's totally faking it. "Grandma said you'd be excited."

"Grandma got that right."

For the record, that Grandma, who raised me to be a Dallas fan in the days of Staubach and Dorsett, was not at all pleased to realize that she won't be able to watch those 'boys play the Packers in the comfort of her own home. The NFL is playing chicken with the cable companies, so Romo and Favre will duke it out in relative private, and those of us who do have the NFL Network will endure Bryant Gumbel for the privilege. I just love being a pawn; don't you?

Now, my mother's certainly welcome to watch a little football with me, assuming she swaps any residual blue and gray for the more appropriate green and gold, but that'll never happen. Oh, that's okay, she'll say--it's late and cold, and you know, your dad. But I know she wishes she could. On the other hand, if that girl said, "Grandma, could you take me to the Wings?" Instantly! She'd be there, order anything. And, oh look at what's on the screen. . .