Celebrate the Small Things: Stadium Scott

It's another Friday to Celebrate the Small Things.

                                   This post is part of VikLit's, blog hop. Click this link to join.

Toady is my baby brother's  birthday. So I'm celebrating it in my own little way. In six years, he'll be fifty. MwaMwaMwa-a-ha! I might be the first to reach it. But it's coming his way. SOON!

The next six years will fly like light years in space. (just letting you know, baby brother) Fifty will be knocking on his door in less than a blink of an eye. Forty came rather quickly and it left the same. As did the years between then and now.

Even though I'm reaching a geriatric state doesn't mean I've forgotten anything about my little brother. Like:

* His very first sentence. He was close to four before he began to speak in coherent sentences other than grunts and moans and pointing to various things he wanted. One night at the dinner table, he spoke, "How do you spell relief, R-O-L-A-I-D-S!" It was a miracle to say the least. And he hasn't shut up since.

* The day he decided to put Legos in his nose and he sucked back. There is still at least one stuck in his brain canal somewhere.

* How he would scream whenever saw the doctor or the barber.

*How mom made him wear a football helmet because of his head-banging tantrums.

* How neat he kept his bedroom and organized his Hot Wheels and Star Wars figures. He's very OCD unlike his sister here.

*  He sucked his thumb until he was 11. My boyfriend at the time thought it cool to drive around the block one day and tell the neighbors via a PA system. My brother met him at the door that day with his plastic ball bat.

* His first hickey. He stubbed his toe over it when I pointed it out to him.

* How he'd lick his index finger and checked to see which way the wind was blowing before stepping outside. He didn't want his perfectly parted and feathered hair blown into oblivion. He did his best to protect it, turning this way and that while he shielded it with his hands, dodging wind while he made his way to the car.

* And the time he laid on his bed crying when Mother Rose came to visit my sister. He was horrified at 11, that he would be next to receive a visit from her.

Since then, he's grown up and has made a special place for himself in a football stadium. The home of the Buccaneers. He's been a diehard fan forever. He's been to every game since 1992 (I don't understand because the team really sucks). But he has bought a pass every season despite it, every year. ***rolling my eyes***

 Picture by Tyler Bradford, my nephew.

Football has been his life. He played it in high school, coached his son's games, and has scheduled his life around every game. Seriously! Replicas of his favorite team members sit on a shrine in the form of bobble-heads in his family room. And no one touches it!

He's known as Stadium Scott. His seat is right below the pirate ship in section 147, row Y. He holds seats 17 and 18. These are his seats. No one else gets them.

My brother believes football is a great team sport. It teaches one to be a team player. If one player misses his assigned play it throws the whole game off.

One of his favorite things to do while at the games is to raz the opposition fans by making fun of their FAT CHEERLEADERS. In which he told me, didn't exist. So does that make them INVISIBLE OR IMAGINARY CHEERLEADERS? ***scratching my head***

As you can probably tell, I don't do football. Eating worms and bugs seems much more appealing to me than watching any football game. If I get the last fifteen minutes of any game, that's good enough for me. But I wanted to celebrate my brother, Stadium Scott's birthday. And if anyone visits the Tampa Bay Buccaneer games, say hi and wish him a happy birthday. Hey! Is there a game this weekend? ***shrugging****

I hope everyone has a chocolate-filled weekend. Happy Shabbats if you practice!

Hugs and chocolate, all!
Shelly









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