It’s Giants football time in my household. Here’s the announcer:
He’s just gonna run by everybody, awww, just past his fingertips…
I wind up there too, on the couch, knitting in hand, just a small piece, counting stitches, the little bumps in the patch of wool, a midnight blue strip of sky I’m building loop by loop into a recognizable thing.
This is one active, moving group of good football players!
I like a couple of things about football, and one is the goggle-eyed tone of the announcers.
What a big time stand by the Ravens! That was huge and inspirational…
The other: the towels the players wear tucked into the front of their pants — a codpiece, dish rag, hanky that I’m sure is somehow crucial to the play, but always seems to inject an unexpected female sensibility into the macho sport.
It’s been an evolutional process… they provided him with a lot of great weapons…
How about knitting as contact sport — no, beyond the needles, though they of course would come in handy in a dark alley.
Knitting writ large.
I saw an art installation some years ago on Governor’s Island in New York Harbor, that employed dozens of people to knit swaths of a gigantic American flag.
I remember that even the clothes of the participants were handworked. And it all seemed so zany. I didn’t knit then.
The artist who orchestrated this giant adventure out of yarn (and statement — it was an anti-war effort) was Liz Collins, who has since gone on to other interesting large-scale projects, such as the one titled Mend, where people were invited to bring in their frayed clothing to be repaired by Collins’ minions.
Boy, that’s a big statement — straight off the fingertips! Incomplete.
First things first. Textile codpieces all around, hand crafted by the nation’s home knitters for each and every footballer. I suddenly see a use for the midnight yarn in my lap. Aren’t the Giants blue?
That’s a good physical finish and a nice cut.
Why, thanks.
Jean Zimmerman 