Figure Skating & The Big Mistake

Husband would tell me the only mistake about figure skating is having it on the tube in the first place, but hey, I like it. Here's the only thing: it makes me nervous as hell.

Yesterday I discovered the national figure skating championships on the idiot box and seized the remote while husband was getting his kayak ready for "the big trip."

I felt very proud and alert watching these ladies take the ice, after years of committed practicing and with the knowledge that their entire futures hinged on five minutes of intense pressure.

When one of the skaters prepares for a big jump, I literally feel myself hunkering down. "Will she make it?" I think. And sure as the planet is blue and green, the second I conjure this thought in my mind, there's a splat on the ice. I couldn't feel worse if I did it myself...granted, I would splat even attempting to stand in a pair of skates.

The spectacle reminds me of my football fan mocking--those nut cases who insist that the kind of sub they're eating, the jersey they're wearing, or whether or not they watch the play can affect the outcome of the game. See husband, we're not so different after all. At least when your peeps fall during the Superbowl next week, they won't be so...on the spot. They'll soon be covered up by seven or eight 300 pounders who are piling on top of each other.