A Salute to Nonviolent Football Fans

Dennis, Nate, and Joe at ESPN Gameday show on UW campus in Seattle, 2023

Get ready America--football season is coming. As fall approaches, a tribal mentality will sweep across the land. Crazed fans of every age will dress in team colors, then begin a zombie-like pilgrimage to stadiums, casinos, and large-screen TVs. They come to watch, cheer, scream, and gamble on football. The frenzy peaks as the season starts, then quickly morphs into frustration as our favorite teams start losing games.

I am certain that football evolved directly from the days of the Roman Empire. A modern football game is remarkably similar to those bloody events held in Rome’s Coliseum in the days when the Lions took on the Christians, and the Gladiators fought each other. Basically, the only difference is that football players make more money than Gladiators did, and obviously, overweight football players on the Lions team don’t get that big by eating Christians.

Which brings us to the Nonviolent Football Fan. Everyone knows one. They are the pacifists who hate football, those peace-loving folks who, for whatever reason, will join us at a game or on our couch to watch football. They struggle to ignore the violence. They are appalled to see players ravage each other. Yet, like it or not, these Nonviolent Football Fans are just like us. They are creatures hooked by the mysterious allure of a game that, on the professional level alone, generates over $19 billion of revenue every year.

“I can’t watch,” a woman mumbles after a quarterback sack. “It’s horrible. They’re trying to kill each other.”

“They are all animals,” the man beside her whispers. “What the hell is wrong with these dudes? Why do they want to play football?”

Just then, player #13 gets smacked from behind. As #13 is hauled off the field on a stretcher, the man pulls out his phone. He frantically checks for updates on his fantasy football team…

My favorite Nonviolent Football Fan holds a special place in my heart. She is Jean, mother of Nate, the kid who became Joe’s “Little Brother” at age 7. As a single mother, Jean worked tirelessly to raise Nate to be a caring, nonviolent, non-cussing kid. She worked nonstop to get Nate to appreciate culture.

“Be gentle, Nate,” she would tell Nate each time he and Joe left for their outings.

While “Be Gentle” might have work well at home, Be Gentle didn’t have season tickets to Washington Husky football games. But Big Brother Joe did. So Nate and Joe spent autumn Saturdays in UW’s Husky Stadium, surrounded by screaming, fired-up fans.

These loud, obnoxious men and women spewed F-bombs and foul language in every direction. It was tucked among that crowd that Nate finally discovered a ‘culture’ that he really appreciated.

Joe, Nate, and I also took Jean to several Husky games over the years. She loved the color, the music, and atmosphere in the stadium. Just before kickoff, Jean would pull out a book or newspaper she brought with her. Having little use for the violent game of football, she sat there and read during the entire game.

Then one day, we were treated to a true football miracle. As an opposing player was bolting down the field with several Huskies in hot pursuit, Jean looked up from her book. She saw the guy heading toward the end zone, running for his life. Suddenly Jean threw down the book, jumped up, and screamed at the top of her lungs:

“CREAM HIM!!! CREAM HIM!!!”

Nate, Joe and I didn’t see the end of the play. We looked over at Jean. Her face was flush; her eyes were locked on the field.

“JEAN,” Joe hollered. “Hey! You better settle down over there, lady!”

“Be gentle, Jean,” Nate piped in.

That moment, that scream, the look on Jean’s face -- for us it’s forever frozen in time. Our favorite Nonviolent Football Fan had erupted, and she had shown her true colors. There in Husky Stadium, we learned that deep down, Jean had it inside her to become a true fan of the game. “CREAM HIM!”

Today, during any game we attend or watch on TV, Nate, Joe, or I will jump up during a random play and scream CREAM HIM! We do it in Jean’s honor, to celebrate that day when the game’s biggest surprise happened right beside us.

No matter if you are a Nonviolent Football Fan like Jean, or one of the rabid maniacs who pack America’s stadiums each weekend, I hope you enjoy football season. Share some fun with your tribe. Savor the excitement. Then blurt out a ferocious “CREAM HIM” in honor of Jean. Nonviolent Football Fans everywhere will appreciate your salute.

Have fun, and Go Dawgs!

A Man and His Friends

Photo of my father Jim Quinn and Ralph the Jeep out hunting. Circa 1970

      They say you can tell a lot about a man by his friends. Those he hangs around with are a reflection of him, a sign of what makes him tick. A man’s friends reflect his values, and give the world a better understanding of the qualities that form the foundation of his character.

      So what does it say to a kid when a he grows up with a Dad whose constant companion was Ralph the Jeep?

      Sure, Ed Kralichek was Dad’s best friend and fish’n buddy. But when it came to choosing the friend that would accompany him on the daily journey of life, my father chose Ralph the Jeep.

      A 1956 Willys Jeep boasting a unique primer-grey unpainted paint job, Ralph the Jeep was not just an extra vehicle hanging around waiting to go hunting. No way--Ralph was Dad’s set of wheels. Not the Lexus or Caddy that today one might expect a professional of Dad’s stature to drive. Nope. Ralph was simply a rattling chunk of gray metal on wheels, complete with a pink interior and a top speed of 35 miles per hour.

Brothers Kelly (L) and Tim (R) with Dad and Ralph the Jeep after a hunting trip.

      It was obvious from his reserved parking spot under the clothesline on Leslie Street that Ralph the Jeep wasn’t the flashiest vehicle in the fleet. But when it came to durability, dependability and adventurous fun, none of the Vista Cruisers that lived in the garage ever came close to Ralph.

      Aside from a nasty habit of taking an unscheduled vacation each winter when the temperature dropped below zero, Ralph was more than happy to go everywhere with Dad. Each morning, they made a connection when Dad’s foot pushed the starter button on the floor. Ralph roared to life, Peggy and I climbed in, and we headed off toward Bishop Gilmore School. Dad would drop us off, and then Ralph made a right turn. Together they chugged a few more blocks where Ralph made sure Dad arrived at his downtown office, rushing in shortly before the second appointment of the day was scheduled to start.

      Long before turning lanes were invented in Montana, Ralph understood the concept. Each morning, Ralph would swerve to the right into what was then the shoulder of the road. To the sound of cheering kids and rattling teeth, Ralph chugged up Benton Avenue past a long line of cars waiting for their chance to turn left onto Euclid. Ralph wasn’t just pulling an illegal fast one on the morning rush hour crowd. He was, in fact, teaching us a lesson. He was demonstrating how common sense, a little adventure and plenty of hustle was much better than sitting around waiting for life to happen. Ralph didn’t take risks, but he loved to take on a challenge.

      The fact that Ralph the Jeep was exactly like my father is why I loved that Jeep. Just like my Dad, Ralph was solid, unpretentious and reliable. There was no flash, no glamour, and no nonsense. Ralph’s only accessory was a heater. It was a small white knob below the dashboard that lit up when turned clockwise. A fan would blow frigid air on the passenger’s ankles, but the only apparent heat came from the tiny light bulb. So what if the contraption only created windchill inside the Jeep? Dad never complained. Both he and Ralph just happily chugged along.

      Neither Dad nor Ralph needed speed. They were happy to travel along the road of life without racing past the people and places that made life interesting. They were both easy-going, dependable and always good for a laugh. And they both loved having others share the journey with them.

      Dad and Ralph the Jeep taught me that if you slowed down and enjoyed the ride, persistence and making the correct turns eventually got you where you needed to go. Ralph didn’t care how steep or bumpy the road was. That Jeep knew that with Dad’s careful guidance, they would make it safely to wherever they were headed.

      Yes, you can tell a lot about a man by his friends. You see what makes him tick. You learn about his values. You come to understand the unique qualities of the man who God gave you as your Father.

      And deep in your heart, you come to know that those countless miles you’ve been lucky enough to travel with him truly are the very best part of your own life’s journey.

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Welcome!

It all begins with an idea. An idea that occupies the mind, but often just fades away. On rare occasions, however, the idea moves into the heart. From there, it stirs occasionally and evolves from an idea to an inspiration that needs to be addressed.

Which is exactly what happened here. The desire to share my writing, to tell the tales that have added texture to my Life Journey, has brought me here.

Later this year, I will publish Stick Figures, A Big Brother Remembers. The work is a tribute to my Little Brother Mike and the times we shared over 13 years in our match through the Big Brothers mentoring program.

Stay tuned for additional information on publication dates and additional information about the book. I am excited to share the story and our adventures with you.