I distinctly remember settling into the recliner positioned closest to the television, and turning to ESPN each and every Sunday night. The familiar theme song instantly released those all-too-familiar endorphins — my hunger for the day’s football highlights about to be satiated. I’d call out to my father, who was usually puttering around in the kitchen or doing something at his desk in the other room.
“Has it started?” he’d ask, a giddy-like excitement to his voice.
“Almost,” I’d reply.
There were no DVRs back in the early 1990s. No “pause” button for live TV. During our favorite shows, bathroom and snack breaks could only be entertained during commercials.