Husband-Head goes for the gold |

Husband-Head goes for the gold

Fried rice
Heidi Rice
Glenwood Springs, CO Colorado

“I could easily be an Olympic gold medal winner, you know,” Husband-Head announced when we had finished watching another night of Olympic overload coverage on TV.

The idea of Husband-Head competing in the games was rather funny.

“Really?” I laughed. “And what sport might you compete in?”

Synchronized swimming? Badminton? Ping pong?

“Chair football,” he said simply. “I could take the gold for the most number of hours spent sitting in my recliner and watching football on TV.”

That, I had to agree with.

“Hell, you could probably break Michael Phelps’ record and get NINE gold medals in your sport,” I reflected. “His events are for the shortest times and your event would be for the longest time.”

Never mind that Phelps’ events last under six minutes and Husband-Head’s event lasts more than six months.

“What’s wrong with my sport?” Husband-Head said defensively. “If beach volleyball can qualify in the Olympic games, why shouldn’t there be chair football?”

I tried to think how the sport would work.

“What would your outfit be?” I was curious. “Because I’d like to know why the women in many of the Olympic events wear skimpy little bikinis and the men are wearing shorts and tank tops. Except for the divers ” then it’s the other way around. What’s up with that?”

Husband-Head thought about if for a moment.

“You’re right ” it should be more fair,” he decided. “Everyone should just be required to wear bottoms only.”

Which would make Husband-Head an instant women’s beach volleyball fan.

“So what would you wear for chair football?” I asked again, trying to imagine him sitting in his recliner in a little Speedo suit.

“My lucky green shorts, my lucky Packers shirt and my lucky Packers cap,” he shrugged. “Beer and the remote control would also be part of the uniform.”

I wasn’t quite sure how it would be judged.

“Ummm, duh … the winner would obviously be the guy who’s wife hasn’t divorced him and who has the most empty beer cans around his chair without passing out,” Husband-Head said.

It sounded like a riveting sport.

“Actually, I already have the gold,” Husband-Head confided to me in a secretive voice. “I just don’t make a big deal about it to anyone.”

My eyes got real big.

“You DO?” I said in shock. “We’ve been together all this time and I never knew that! Where is it?”

He pointed to one of the top shelves in his playhouse.

“I don’t see it,” I said, looking up and squinting. “I don’t see a ribbon or a medal or anything.”

Husband-Head walked over and pulled down a cheesy little trophy that featured a plastic gold football player carrying a ball with a small plaque underneath that read “V.L.C. Jayhawks 1977.”

“It’s my Vince Lombardi Conference trophy,” he said proudly. “I got it when I played football in the eighth grade and it’s the oldest thing I own. I’ve been packing this thing around for the past 31 years.”

Now I remembered.

In the 17 years since we’ve been together, this object has followed us wherever we were. And we’ve moved a lot.

“For God’s sake, we can’t find any of our wedding photos or our marriage license for that matter, and yet this stupid thing keeps showing up,” I protested.

Clearly, Husband-Head was very attached to his trophy.

“Well, does it have a name?” I wanted to know. “Like Vince or Ray or Reggie?”

“Nope,” he said. “It’s just my trophy.”

This coming from a man who named a porcelain skull I’d given him at Halloween as Skully” and spoke to me through it for an entire football season … and on national television.

And as the other Olympians wound down from the summer games, Husband-Head was just getting going.

“Kick off to the regular season starts in TWO WEEKS!” he sang out jubilantly, doing a little dance around the kitchen. “I’ll be in my chair watching football until next February! Let the GAMES BEGIN!”

Heidi Rice is a staff reporter for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday in the Post. Visit her Web site at

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