the gods must not be crazy about football
The best of Thanksgivings to all my family and friends in the states.
So Tuesday, after I waxed rhapsodic in my last post about all the great football
games this holiday weekend, I turned on our TV and saw this message:
ATTENTION 015
Please standby for your satellite signal. Thank you for your patience.
Satellite: 91
Transponder: 3
Progress: 0 of 5
HELP
I patiently stood by for a bit. I’d seen this message several times since we
switched to a new service provider. When the zero turned to five, the signal
soon followed. Except it didn’t change. I grew impatient, stopped standing
by and turned off the TV.
It hasn’t changed yet. I called the provider yesterday. After exhausting the
few options we had for home repair, the techie concluded that something had
blown out on the dish.
“The soonest we can get someone out there is next Tuesday,” she informed me.
That’s the Tuesday immediately following the Packers/Lions game, the 49ers/
Ravens, LSU/Arkansas, Alabama/Auburn, Steelers/Chiefs and Saints/Giants.
And up here, the B.C. Lions vs. the Winnipeg Blue Bombers in the 99th Grey
Cup.
Two years ago, Jude and I exchanged a sizeable cabinet and $100 for a decent
plasma screen TV. That and satellite service is the height of our decadence,
but also our entire entertainment budget. To deny me premium access to so
much pivotal football is punishment I can only describe as cruel and unusual.
I don’t want you to pity me, and you won’t if you keep reading. Whatever blew
out on the dish does not affect the secondary receiver on the smaller set in our
bedroom. The extent of my inconvenience is that I have to watch the games
on a smaller set further from the fridge.
So this is my holiday message to you: after the three seconds of despair I felt
wore off, I laughed out loud at my pettiness. I realized that this problem is a
piffle of a pimple on a popcorn fart. My life now is an embarrassment of riches.
And I’m thoroughly thankful.
