Football was the white noise of my childhood. I grew up in Prosser, a small town smitten with the game, watched the local Friday night battles, heart in my chest. The games on TV after church were never about the final score. They were about letting my eyes grow heavy to the comforting soundtrack of helmets clacking, of fans roaring, and my dad periodically rising from his recliner in yelps of unbridled joy when the Seahawks scored. The games were about being together. About watching with people who loved me, safe to fall asleep.
January 10, 2004: Patriots vs. Titans
What I remember: a nurse peeking in, seeing the
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