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I'm about to say something that, in some places, would probably get me strung up by my heels. At the very least, I know a few of you are going to give your computer screen a really dirty look. I'll probably lose followers over this (some were apparently offended by my "not-so-fresh" post. Ooops).
... I (hate, despise, detest, loathe) really don't like football.
There. I said it. I don't like football. On a scale of one to ten, my interest in football - sports in general, actually - is about a negative eleven.
Football, to me, is like coffee. Or beer. It's something that I feel almost ... wrong, almost un-American, not liking. Something that I honestly wish I could acquire a taste for, but can't seem to, no matter how hard I try. I like football weather. I like the cute team-logoed sportswear. I like the excitement of the fans. But the sport itself? Blah.
I've tried learning the rules. I don't get it. I've tried just watching the bubbly football-player butts bouncing up and down the field. And don't get me wrong - that's pretty decent to watch for, like, the first twenty minutes - but even that gets old.
What kind of a curse is this, this apathetic attitude toward all things sporty? Especially for the mom of THREE SONS? It's going to be horrible for me when they start playing team sports in school. Absolutely torturous. Thank goodness I've still got a few years to go before then.
Up until this point, I've been able to live a happily sports-free existence. My husband, in general, isn't much of a sports fan. He wants to watch the occasional UFC fight (barf), and played sports in high school, but he's not one of those guys that's all over it like white on rice.
Notice in the paragraph above, I said, "Up until this point?" Yeah. That's because today, there was a most unfortunate (well, unfortunate for me) turn of events. Curtis sat down in front of the TV, and instead of cop shows or shows about fish like he usually watches, he turned on ... a football game.
And then when that one was over? He flipped to another one.
I stood in the center of the living room, head cocked to one side, eyes bugged out, looking at him like he was growing a tail.
"What?" he asked innocently.
I gestured wildly to the TV. "Football?" I spat.
He shrugged, eyes never faltering from the screen. "I like football. I'm gonna start watching it from now on."
I could have fallen over. Because y'all? Curtis saying that he's going to watch football from now on is like him saying, "Hey, I'm gonna start wearing my hair in a mullet," or "Hey, I'm gonna stop at the bar every night after work." Not exactly something I'm overjoyed to hear. My sports-less little world has been rocked by this one ominous announcement.
What's worse, is that I can't do anything about it. I mean, if it were my boys, I'd just be all, "Um. No." But this is my husband. And if he's decided that he loves him some football, well, I guess I'd better get used to it.
So I need your advice. If you love football, why? If you used to hate football, but now you like (or at least tolerate) it, what's your secret? I'd like to share my man's interest if I possibly can - to make it easier on myself, if nothing else!
Lay it on me!