My wife isn't precisely allergic to football, but its charms are lost on her. To wit, she has no idea why so many plays begin with the quarterback seemingly poised to check the center's prostate. "There just has to be a better way to hike the ball," she once observed.

Likewise, my teenage daughter has far greater interest in the players when they are on the sidelines with their helmets off than when they are actually beating each other up on the field. One time when the two of us were in Manhattan, we thought we saw newly retired Giants running back Tiki Barber on the street in a black leather duster, and I thought she was going to start hyperventilating.

Put him in a helmet, however, and in her eyes, he goes from hunk to hulk.

Consequently, neither has a whole lot of interest in the Super Bowl. Actually, neither has (ITAL)any (END ITAL) interest in the Super Bowl.

Now, I should note that I know lots of women who care passionately about spectator sports, and take the Super Bowl far more seriously than I do. I also can tell you that my wife is a terrific athlete. She cares plenty about fitness and sports ... so long as the fitness and sports don't involve complete strangers.

Over the years, I've tried to make the Super Bowl exciting for my family by attempting to create a Super Bowl party-like atmosphere in our home on the big day. I began by introducing them to angioplasty-inducing football fare. One year I created a chips-and-dips buffet for us to sample while we -- well, I -- watched the game. Another year I poured a can of mushroom soup over a batch of frozen green beans and fried onion rings, and called it a casserole. It looked like something I'd found in a Dumpster, but it was definitely Super Bowl food.

I'm honestly not sure why I care about the big game -- or football in general when it's played by people I will never meet. I don't completely understand why anyone cares about spectator sports, or why some sports are more popular than others. Why, for instance, do people prefer to watch football over Twister? And even if Twister isn't as interesting as football, it has to be more compelling than poker, and heaven knows people are tuning in to watch televised poker these days.

I've read books and articles that examine why we care about sports: Why we root, why we call into sports radio talk shows, why we cheer and boo and argue and rant. I understand the hunger for power and control, I appreciate the desire to be a part of a herd. But still most of it is Byzantine to me.

Not, however, all of it. I can't speak for other grown-ups who feel pangs of despair when (choose one) the Pats, the Sox or the Mets lose. But in my case, professional sports bring me back to my childhood in two satisfying ways.

First of all, I have concrete memories of curling up in front of the television set with a blaze in the fireplace and watching Giant football games as a little boy with my parents and my older brother. Or of sitting with them at Shea Stadium for twilight baseball doubleheaders in June. These are extremely comforting recollections because I am in the safe confines of my family in a moment that is completely free of internal strife.

Second, professional sports remind me of playground sports -- and, again, of my youth. Like a lot of people, whenever I've played pickup softball or football, there has been an announcer in my head narrating the action. I am not batting against my neighbor, I'm up against Roger Clemens. It is not my cousin who launched that perfect spiral my way; it was Tom Brady.

My sense is there are worse ways to reconnect with one's childhood. And there might even be some aerobic benefit to screaming like a crazy person at strangers on television.

So, bring on the chips and dips, and turn up the volume. It's Super Bowl Sunday.

(This column originally appeared in the Burlington Free Press on February 4, 2007.)

Last month my daughter's chorus teacher at Mount Abraham Union High School, Megan LaRose, sent me an e-mail that was circulating on the Internet that was filled with children's thoughts about marriage. There was some serious wisdom in it.

And so with Valentine's Day fast approaching, I decided to visit the Lincoln Elementary School and ask students there for their opinions about love and romance and, yes, Valentine's Day. I visited the first-graders and the fourth-graders. Grownups, take note. Here is what I learned.

From the first-graders:

"I love Valentine's Day because I get to make red hearts and wear a red shirt." (Joe)

"You know people are married because they might have children. What happens is two people get married and then a few days later they get their children." (Madeline)

"I like Valentine's Day because it's my dog's birthday." (Saskia)

"To find someone to marry, you look around and find the person with the prettiest eyes." (Joe)

"You can see if people are married by the way they hold hands." (Emma)

"Valentine's Day is just so much fun because you get to give people hearts and notes and Valentines!" (Cecilia)

The very best presents for a wedding or Valentine's Day, it seems include a brother (Ian); a ring (Chandler); dancing and flowers (Emma); a wish (Saskia); a house (Abigail); a car (Casey); and a firetruck (Lohak).

From the fourth-graders:

"Valentine's Day is like Christmas, except it's about loving and kindness and family." (Jordan)

"I like Valentine's Day because usually my mom will get me something like a stuffed animal. Last year she got me Hypo. He's a dog, and he's named Hypo because he's hyperactive." (Chase)

"If a boy wants to get married, he finds some girl and they get all lovey-dovey." (Sierra)

"The best way to get married is to look at someone's personality. You want to see if they have the same interests as you. And you want to make sure they're smart and not dumb. You don't want to marry someone dumb." (Allison)

What are some things that the happily married parents of these fourth-graders had in common? The same age (Eliot's); cooking (Chase's); and "me" (Anthony). And Finnian's? "Their hair used to be the same color, but now my mom highlights hers."

When I asked how you can tell if two people are in love, I learned a new word or, to be precise, a new use for an existing word. But it's perfect. The answer? "If two people are in love, they're always glazing at each other," Jordan told me. By the ebullience with which she imparted this knowledge to me, I don't think she meant their eyes are glazing over (boredom) or they are glaring at one another (anger). No, I believe she meant that they gaze in a way that is well beyond rapture: Their eyes actually ... blaze.

Finally, I asked the group for the very best places for a Valentine's Day date.

"Pluto. Because no one is there but you and your date. Oh, and the aliens." (Eliot)

"Mars. Ther're little holes and steam comes out and you can float." (Chase)

"Pizza Putt. I want to get married there." (Megan)

"The drive-in." (Allison)

"A lightning storm. Or a rodeo. Maybe a lightning storm and a rodeo." (Jamie)

So, the next time you need some help with your love life? Visit the Lincoln Elementary School. Happy Valentine's Day.

(This column originally appeared in the Burlington Free Press on February 11, 2007.)

Last month I went to see "RiddleLikeLove (with a side of ketchup)" at a small theater off Broadway. Way off Broadway. If my mother-in-law, who was my guest, and I had walked much farther west, we would have splashed into the Hudson River.

I was there because the show was co-written by my friend Douglas Anderson, who is the executive director of Middlebury's Town Hall Theater, and because I like ketchup. When I was a boy, I was that kid who was slathering the stuff on all the usual suspects, as well as on spaghetti and eggs and broccoli. I did this because I really liked ketchup, and because my mother had numerous strengths, but none of them involved the culinary arts.

First of all, I should note that I loved the show. It's the tale of one woman's friendship with her deaf pal, who has now passed away. The story is poignant and powerful and, at moments, laugh-out loud funny. The actress, Julie Fitzpatrick, is a winning presence on stage, channels her deaf friend with grace, and sounds a bit like Natalie Merchant of "10,000 Maniacs" fame when she sings.

None of this matters, however, because the show has completed its New York City run, and I'm not a theater critic. What matters is this: Getting there was indeed half the fun.

We took a cab from my mother-in-law's apartment to the restaurant in the theater district where we had reservations. Our cabdriver was a gentleman who I think got his AARP card when Debby Boone was singing "You Light Up My Life" in 1977. But he had more hair than me, the energy of a speed skater, and he boasted the sort of rakish smile in which Warren Beatty must take serious pride. He was a ladies' man and had decided that my mother-in-law was a lady who merited some attention. The two of them were having a great time.

I, however, was having a stroke. The traffic was moving at a pace that could only be called glacial, and we were going to be late for dinner and, thus, late for the theater.

Consequently, when we were five blocks from the restaurant I suggested to the driver that my mother-in-law and I get out and walk the last quarter mile. It was as if I had proposed that he drop us off in front of a crack house. He was indignant. He said that my mother-in-law -- who, just for the record, still rides her bicycle around Manhattan in sub-freezing weather -- couldn't possibly walk five blocks to the theater. (In fact, she could probably sprint it.) And so I figured I had better back off and let Cupid have his way. I'm glad I did. It's not often I get to watch my proper mother-in-law flirt like she was on the O.C. (OK, flirt like she was on the senior section of the O.C.)

After dinner, we walked west to the theater, and a long walk it was. When we were on a wide block between two avenues and hadn't seen a human being for 75 yards, we must have looked a tad befuddled. Just then a massive guy emerged from the shadows of a loading dock and murmured, "Ensemble Studio Theatre? Four doorways down." There's nothing like a little clairvoyance from a stranger outside an alley when you're lost.

And when we arrived at the theater for the 7 p.m. show, Anderson told us that some Web sites and newspapers had mistakenly written that the show would commence at 8 o'clock -- not 7. There were 20 of us there for the 7 o'clock show, but many more with reservations for 8. Could we come back? He said they would be happy to do the show twice, if we couldn't. We all agreed to wait, especially when the ushers started offering us wine.

Live theater always has the possibility of offering something magic. It's even more special, however, when the actors in real life are as interesting as the people you see on the stage.

(This column originally appeared in the Burlington Free Press on February 18, 2007.)