Going high-tech to share the joy of victory (01/24/07)

It was easily a three telephone call game.

But it ended up being three e-mails instead.

Ever since Sally headed off for Indiana University a few years back, we've been in regular contact on Sunday afternoons during the NFL season.

I'd be watching the Colts back here at home, and she'd usually be keeping track of the game on her computer while she worked on her Russian homework on Sunday afternoons.

(She'd probably also be instant-messaging half a dozen people at the same time. That's the multi-tasking nature of her generation.)

Usually one of us would check in at half-time. Sometimes there'd be a call right in the middle of the action if something particularly exciting had happened. And usually there'd be a call after the game, one which turned into a more general chat from home.

The system worked fine the past three autumns, but last week Sally took off for St. Petersburg. Not Florida. Russia. She'll be studying there all semester, working on her Russian language skills as part of her major.

The trip took more than 24 hours, and we'd had a brief phone call letting us know she had arrived safely. On Sunday morning, we had a reassuring e-mail as well.

Sally was settling in. Her host mother sounded nice. We were able to track down her neighborhood on a map in a Lonely Planet guide. And she promised to send us a phone number after she gets a cell phone account hooked up.

But when game time rolled around, something was missing. There was no way to give her a call when the Colts took on the New England Patriots.

Instead, I turned to e-mail.

The first one, sent as half-time was approaching, was pretty discouraging. The score was a depressing 21-3 at the time, and it looked as if the Colts were going to break the hearts of their fans again. I pushed the "send" button and took the dog for a walk.

Then, of course, things began to happen at the Dome in Indy.

I sent a second e-mail in the third quarter when the score was tied up 28-all. The dog, I told her, was unfazed by the excitement but there was plenty of shouting going on at our house thanks to the Colts' comeback.

Finally, when the whole amazing, record-breaking thing was over, I went back to the computer right before hitting the sack.

The subject line on my e-mail to St. Petersburg said it all: "Holy smoke! Holy smoke! Holy smoke!"

If I'd had her phone number, I probably would have given her a call. What's an eight-hour time difference after a game like that?[[In-content Ad]]