Rarely do Bess and I agree on anything during football season. This year, though, we actually share the same favorite player. But more on that later.
Our continued disagreements boil down to one thing: I believe that Saturdays should be reserved solely for watching college football, and Bess does not.
We're flex season ticket holders for the Columbus Symphony Orchestra, which means we attend about half the performances and pick which ones we want.
I think the best concerts start in January. You know, right after bowl games end. And Bess? Well, those fall shows are just irresistible.
This time last year I actually agreed to attend "Totally Tchaikovsky" on a Saturday night. I told Bess this: "Honey, I couldn't possibly miss an opportunity to hear 'Serenade for Strings in C Major, Op. 48.' Oh, and to spend some time with you."
Meanwhile, I was thinking this: "OK, the Georgia-South Carolina game kicks off at 3:30 and the concert starts at 7:30. At the worst, I'll listen to the end of the game while we're driving downtown."
It was a great plan, but the game was delayed for 90 minutes because of lightning.
When we took our seats in the RiverCenter, it was midway through the third quarter. The Bulldogs were trailing by 11 but mounting a long drive. And they had Todd Gurley.
I still remember that concert. I also still remember that Georgia had a chance to win the game with first-and-goal at the 4-yard line.
Yes, I had my phone hidden under my program and would occasionally sneak a glance. By occasionally, I mean after each play.
I also remember feeling a little jealous of Bess that night. She was happy because she'd been to the symphony. I was mad because Mark Richt forgot he had the world's greatest running back.
And so it goes. If whatever football team I'm rooting for wins, I'm elated. If it loses, I'm crushed. Pretty irrational when you think about it.
At the symphony, everybody's a winner. Not half of us -- all of us. The music soothes and inspires and makes us smarter and better -- as long as we're not corrupting the process by trying to follow a damn football game on our smartphone.
Then I think about the blonde woman who plays the cello. Bess and I noticed her during the first concert we attended.
I can't distinguish a good player from an excellent one, but I can see that the blonde woman who plays the cello feels the music, that she puts everything into it, and that she loves it. And because of that I know she's excellent at what she does.
The other day, I was sifting through a stack of mail on the kitchen table. Right there, under ESPN the Magazine, was a brochure from the CSO. And on the cover was the blonde woman who plays the cello.
Her name is Nan Kemberling. I went online and discovered she chose the cello at the age of 10 after seeing a female cellist/sniper in a James Bond movie.
She should win the Heisman.
Dimon Kendrick-Holmes, executive editor, email@example.com.