Ya, isn't DN is the first place everyone goes for etiquette advice?
But this is totally football related:
I watch games at a local and locally-owned sports bar. It's a very mixed group (not religion or race or gender or profession or other blah-blah-crap, but mixed in the only important way to mark the measure of a man: team affiliation & football knowledge) and Sunday-Ticket-Be-Damned we all still would rather gather and watch the 17 screens together. Smack is as plentiful as the beer and runs the spectrum from light & funny to bitter & very darkly funny, and there's the mysterious showing-up of the Packer stickers on my car window sometimes...but it's all good, you know?
Except some of the guys are bringing their kids and grandkids. I don't mean the 16-yr old boy who's like a human-Google of football stats; I don't even mean the tiny grandbaby in the Packer Cheerleader outfit. (I've tried to tell him that putting her in that outfit is like footbinding - she's kinda adorable now but is gonna turn out fat and ugly and twisted if he keeps her in that thing too long.) But the middle-little kids...the ones who don't need to hear the language I use when a ref makes a particularly egregious call against one of my safeties who had a legitimate chance at the #@!!&%$ ball, dammit. They don't need to know what my Packer friends think of the Steelers dude at the next table who shaved his head to provide the proper canvas for that gawd-awful Steelers tattoo. (Someone get that bastard a hat, please.)
I go to this sports bar to watch NFL football (not just because my husband said I can't watch at home anymore as my hollering at the tv scares the dogs) and so do about 40 other people. Seriously my fellow DNer's - I've tried moving to a different seat so at least I'm not yelling right in their mynah-bird-like-ears. And these kids aren't interested in the game. Tho none of us mind that they run around a bit...if you squint they can sort of look like short drunk people stumbling around and they fit right in sometimes...but I'm not gonna watch the kid when she wanders out into the lobby of the hotel that this bar is in. I'm gonna smack you on the arm and tell you to go get her. Then I resent feeling like the damn monitor...my mommy-instinct is my own problem - I get that, I suppose. But when one of these babysitter-less football guys gives me the 'look' and asks me to watch my language, I turn to him and smile and give him the universal 'what's up?' arm motion and say ' sorry dude, but this is a bar on Football Sunday." I feel bad tho...well, ok - I feel a little bad when I think back on it, at least.
So tell me guys...what's a Vikechick to do?