My Favorite Football Memory

Written by John Edward Betancourt 

I actually became a fan of football for one specific reason, my father. My dad is a professional photographer, one that I learned much from and growing up, he took many an incredible picture in his day and spent most of his weekends shooting college and professional football games.  

So, I started watching football in the sheer hope of seeing him on the sidelines and quickly found myself immersed in the game. In fact, I found it hilarious, that I didn't start seeing my dad on the sidelines of games until the day came when I stopped looking for him. Suddenly he was everywhere, usually in the end zone on Monday Night Football oddly enough.   

But I digress, because as I grew older, I started helping my dad out at games. He taught me how to be a photographer, a skill I am grateful for to this day, but I was also a teenager and stupid when this occurred because I thought a great way to spend my weekends was on the couch with the remote in hand. It's funny how as you get older you realize what an idiot you were in your youth because, I now look forward to spending weekends at conventions with my camera in hand and well, I never really thought about how many awesome NFL games I have seen on the sideline thanks to my father until I grew up.

But my favorite memory of football came from my ignorance. I don't remember the date of this particular game. I just know the Bengals were in town and it was going to be cold and being my pissy teenager self, I wanted to stay home and tried to back out of helping him out. But he convinced me otherwise and I begrudgingly went off to old Mile High Stadium with him. At first, I regretted this decision. It. Was. Cold. Cold enough we had to wear gloves that covered everything but the index finger to take pictures with and even then...the cold that touched that little bit of skin was too much to bear.  

Our gear froze on several occasions. We had to improvise to keep the batteries and the cameras warm enough to function and my dad was concerned he might not get the shots he needed. That meant there was downtime, and that's when it all hit me. I stood there, with my dad watching John Elway throw perfect passes in front of a packed house of 76,125 roaring fans...this was something special. This was something amazing and I was getting to experience it not because my father wanted to instill a work ethic or punish me but because he wanted to share it with his son.  

I worked harder than I ever had at the time that afternoon. I hustled harder, I had the gear ready as my dad needed it, constantly checking everything I could to make sure it was ready for him. I wanted him to get the shots. I wanted to make him proud that day. I remember him asking on the ride home if I realized how fussy I was being and I admitted that I had and apologized of course and, in the end, I don't care how many Super Bowls the Denver Broncos win, nothing will be as incredible as that day.   

Every single one of those games was a gift. Not because of the free tickets or the free food. No because I got to spend time with my father, doing something I would later discover we were both great at, and quite honestly life doesn't get much better than that. Of all the games I ever seen in my life...that's the one I would love to go to one more time. But alas, one cannot go back in time outside of memories and I will never forget the roaring crowd, or the cold sinking into my bones and a father and son, who just so happened to be photographers and football fans, working together, side by side.

---