Grandmothers who knit and professional football players have more in common than you might imagine. Surprisingly, both groups can be very competitive. Speed-knitting championships were given recently in Zwolle, Netherlands, according to The Wall Street Journal. Hazel Tindall, the reigning champion (255 stitches in three minutes) from the Shetland Islands in Scotland was the hands-down and needles-up favorite, but then Miriam Tegels of Zwolle scored 257. The hometown crowd undoubtedly went wild, or as wild as fans can get in a room full of power-knitters. Miriam definitely had the home rocking chair advantage. When the competition was over, Hazel presumably gathered up her knitting supplies and headed back home, where she faced playful needling from her nearest and dearest friends. ("So what be it, Hazel, that brought ye down? The knit stitch or the purl stitch? Heh, heh.") The Journal article noted that the Shetland Islands "produces power-knitters the way Texas produces high school football players." As speed-knitting competitions develop more followers, it’s only a matter of time before the power-knitters will be compared with the big boys — pro football players. The following situations might indicate if your own dear, sweet grandmother has joined a speed-knitting team: She is suddenly comfortable with contracts and negotiations. You overhear her telling a grandchild, "So, dear, you would like Nana to knit you some mittens and a neck scarf for winter, would you? Well, tell you what. See that paper on the nightstand next to my teeth? It’s called a contract. If you sign it and promise to wash my car every weekend for six months, the mittens and scarf will be ready tomorrow. Won’t that be wonderful?" She becomes the Randy Moss of knitting. Whenever she finishes speed knitting a baby blanket or some other item that’s rather time consuming (at least five minutes), she triumphantly throws down her needles, jumps up from her rocking chair, turns around and pretends to moon anyone unfortunate enough to be sitting in the room. Whenever you drop in for a visit, you can hear her cheerleader friends, also members of her church circle and garden club, in the next room, practicing their latest cheer. "Knit one, purl two, we’re from Sioux City, whoo-whoo!" Grandma’s stooped-over posture, which reminds you of a pretzel, can no longer be blamed on arthritis or bone density loss. It’s mostly caused by the heavy gold chains hanging from her neck and her oversized, diamond stud earrings. Family members tend to steer clear of Grandma. For no apparent reason she might swat you so enthusiastically on your rear end that sitting down will be painful for several days. Instead of parceling out grandmotherly hugs, she insists on having what she calls "team huddles." Her parting words at the front door aren’t, "Call me when you get home, dearie," or "Drive carefully!" Instead, she will grab you by the neck and grunt, "Now, get out there and kick some butt!" She trades in her old Buick for a brand new Corvette. When you ask her why, she looks up from her speed knitting and explains, "Honey, I’ve got this need for speed!" Of course, the greatest similarity between speed knitters and pro football players is that when the competition is too intense, both groups tend to become unraveled.
