Here lies my relationship...
I try to be a good -- no -- a great girlfriend. Before this love o' my life, I'd never dated a sports fan, unless you count the handful of Irishmen who dragged me to a bar at 6am on a Sunday morning for European football matches. Even then, I quickly learned that it was better to be sleeping than to be drunk at 7am.
So it was sort of surprising to find that the man I decided to go through heaven and hell with is not just a sports "fan" but a rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth American football fan. I tried to like football or at least feign interest in the name of good companionship. I managed to get excited about basketball and have always been willing to go to a ball game (especially at the SF Giants' home field). Hell an A's vs. Yankees game was our second date way back in 2002. I cheer maniacally for boxing matches and always make a $2 bet just to make things interesting.
But I cannot get behind football. It is the most homo-erotic, mindless, physiologically damaging exercise of brute stupidity that I've ever tried to understand. I've asked about the rules, tried to see it as skill or strength or even an okay way to pass a Sunday afternoon (or Monday, Thursday and sometimes even Wednesday) - but I can't.
So my beloved's fantasy football league draft is a mere 54 minutes away. And I feel that I should dedicate this space to all of the Sundays in the coming months that I won't be able to share with him. Thank god for nail salons, outlet shopping and being able to sunbathe until about October up here.
So it was sort of surprising to find that the man I decided to go through heaven and hell with is not just a sports "fan" but a rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth American football fan. I tried to like football or at least feign interest in the name of good companionship. I managed to get excited about basketball and have always been willing to go to a ball game (especially at the SF Giants' home field). Hell an A's vs. Yankees game was our second date way back in 2002. I cheer maniacally for boxing matches and always make a $2 bet just to make things interesting.
But I cannot get behind football. It is the most homo-erotic, mindless, physiologically damaging exercise of brute stupidity that I've ever tried to understand. I've asked about the rules, tried to see it as skill or strength or even an okay way to pass a Sunday afternoon (or Monday, Thursday and sometimes even Wednesday) - but I can't.
So my beloved's fantasy football league draft is a mere 54 minutes away. And I feel that I should dedicate this space to all of the Sundays in the coming months that I won't be able to share with him. Thank god for nail salons, outlet shopping and being able to sunbathe until about October up here.
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