FOOTBALL PRODUCES LOTS OF FIGHTING

Pro football is a such a brutal sport. During almost every game, fights break out and people call each other nasty names. And the referees can't do anything about it because they have no control over spectators.

Sure, there's a lot of hitting and name-calling on the field, but it can't compare to the frenzy in the stands and in living rooms across America. That's where the real battle is. That's where boys become men, and men become crazy.

They act like nothing is more important than a football game, not even that living arrangement known as a marriage.

If we could televise all the fights between husbands and wives over football, no one would watch the actual games. They would seem too dull.

"What do you get out of sitting on your big butt all day, watching grown men throw a ball?" a wife would yell, searching for the remote control.

"More joy than you've ever given me," her husband would reply, sliding the remote under the big butt.

Of course, not all men are like this. Some have small butts.

But regardless of butt size, many men -- and some women -- go absolutely nuts over football. I know this because I happen to be one of these men.

When my favorite team, the Seattle Seahawks, is playing, my entire life is on hold. If I'm breathing, it's only because that doesn't require any concentration. Neither does sweating and shouting at those numskulls on TV, who never seem to score enough touchdowns.

On Sunday afternoons, my telephone can ring all it wants, I'm not answering. And if someone is brave enough to knock on my door, they had better tell me my apartment is on fire.

I'm not a violent person, but you'd be much safer trying to sell Playboy in Iran than getting between me and the television.

It's a good thing I watch most of the games at home, where I don't run into fans of the other team. I'd hate to be featured on America's Most Wanted.

Several years ago, the Seahawks played the Eagles in Philadelphia, and I went to the game in my flashy Seahawks gear, having left my brains at home.

Though I wasn't wearing an expensive pair of Nikes, almost every Eagles fan wanted to mug me. One called me a name that wouldn't even be suitable for an IRS agent.

If Philadelphia is the city of brotherly love, they sure have a strange way of showing it.

But fans everywhere get carried away. They actually think they're part of the team, using words like "we" and "us," especially when the team is winning.

"We are playing defense well," they say. "No one can score on us."

Of course, when the team is losing, they say, "Those idiots couldn't even tackle my grandma."

Fans seem to take the game more seriously than the players. They care more about who's in the Super Bowl than who's in the White House.

If you watch the players at the end of a game, you'll see most of them laughing, smiling and joking with their opponents, forgetting that just a few minutes ago, they were trying to knock each other's teeth out.

Meanwhile, up in the stands, one team's fans are acting like they just won the lottery and the other team's fans are acting like Mike Tyson just bit them.

Truth is, they should all feel a little sad, because they just spent a day's wages watching millionaires running around. And chances are, those numskulls didn't score enough touchdowns.