And today, I was fortunate enough to attend with my dad and my stepbrother and his family a Chicago Rush game. The Rush is an arena football team; you may have seen arena football on NBC the last few weeks.

If not, I haven’t the energy to explain. The game wasn’t particularly interesting anyway. The big treat was a free miniature American flag for every fan attending the game. Apparently, we were supposed to feel bad for attending a trivial sporting event while our brave troops are fighting in Iraq to defend our liberty to — among other things — attend trivial sporting events.

At half time, I went to a merchandise booth in search of a foam helmet. It’s made of the same material as those No. 1 fingers. I asked the clerk at the booth whether the helmet was only for kids or if they also had adult sizes. “One size fits all,” he said. I tried on the helmet but it wasn’t as hilariously kitschy as I’d hoped.

I was too embarrassed to say that I didn’t like the foam helmet — I mean, what kind of high standards would bring you to even consider purchasing such an item in the first place? So I said facetiously, “Jeez, this doesn’t offer too much protection.”

I admit it wasn’t too funny, and I was not surprised that the clerk didn’t laugh. I was surprised when he took me seriously and said, “Well, yeah. You probably shouldn’t go ramming your head into anything with that on.”

I had no response. I handed him the foam helmet and bought a regular cap.

We were treated to the joys of the Adrenaline Rush Dancers, whom I promptly dubbed, “The Methamphetamines.” I’m not sure what exactly it is about cheerleading squads — er, dance squads — that turns me off.

There’s something about the way they all move in perfect unison, with their hair flipping in the same direction at the exact same time, that creeps me out. They seem like little robots with dyed hair. But that’s probably just me.