Final Word: One Potato, Two Potato
...three potato, four. The Million Man Sofa Spud Olympics is coming to a TV near you. Stay tuned for a new month to celebrate all things athletic —and not so athletic.
Illustration by Deana Staffo www.deannastaffo.com
I have no statistics to back this up, but I think most divorces get their starts in October. It’s a logical conclusion when you consider the number of marriages composed of spouses who do not like televised sports, but are married to spouses who do.
I am being politically correct in using “spouses,” but I’m sure most of you can guess the gender of the figure lying on the couch, bag of Cool Ranch expertly balanced on his stomach, merrily flipping among the baseball playoffs, college and pro football, hockey and the NBA preseason on the picture-in-picture big screen.
While all this is going on in the den, the other spouse has a schematic laid out on the kitchen table with step-by-step assembly instructions for a new garbage disposal or a 50mm machine gun, depending on the stage of their relationship.
Spouses who dislike sports should form a travel or activity club to plan events for the month. It might help keep things on the home front agreeable during this Mother of All Months for TV sports.
While the club—let’s call it the Fighting Steel Magnolia Army of Jihad Social Club—is out browsing Amish crafts markets or gun shows, the menfolk (not joiners for the most part, so let’s refer to them collectively as the Legion of Drool) guard hearth and home while power flipping through more than a dozen televised sporting contests.
At the same time, the leaves pile up in the yard, the patio furniture continues to weather, the outdoor faucets remain unwinterized, and a new garbage disposal lay in a heap of unassembled parts on the kitchen table while a wedding photo of the beloved couple now suddenly resides on the floor of the living room, shards of glass sprinkled about the splintered frame. There comes a sudden, oxygen-depleting slamming of the front door, while the lump of necrifying flesh on the couch stops flipping channels just long enough to ask itself, “What was all that racket?”
Because of the tsunami of televised sports, October should be named Couch Potato Month. With that sanction, a lot of the rub and friction that occurs during that time would be erased. Think about Father’s Day as a model: no chores, no errands, no cooking (save for the grilling of heavily salted and high-fat meats) and no complaining about how nothing’s getting done. Said gender is allowed to postpone personal hygiene until well into the afternoon while enjoying full-length couch privileges and dibs on the big screen for the entire day. Apply all that to all of October and you will, without a doubt, create the most celebrated of all the months.
Think of all the special events to mark Couch Potato Month, such as the annual Million Man Nap. Retailers would announce special Couch Potato Month sales of leather recliners with built-in refrigerators, hammocks and personal “tummy vacs” for keeping the crumbs off your T-shirt. Special rates on chiropractic back care would be a good thing, too.
Of course, such a month would eventually have to be balanced with something like National Trial Separation Day, probably on the first of November, like Ash Wednesday after Mardi Gras. But all good things do come to an end, especially really good things.
I know there will be detractors to this idea—one in particular—but with playoff systems expanding across all sports, we need Couch Potato Month to put it all in perspective, provide the time necessary to be keep track of it all.
Besides, what better occupant of the White House to proclaim National Couch Potato Month than its current resident? D
Sofa spud Reid Champagne gathers much moss in Newark.