I think a common misassumption about me upon learning this shocking fact is that I’m a “girly girl”. Or maybe that I grew up with two homosexual fathers. Neither assumption is accurate.
In many respects, I AM quite girly. And thank God for that. If I wasn’t girly then I’d most likely be a lesbian. And not even a pretty lesbian. I’d be one of the butch kind. (to all you butch lesbians out there, please don’t be offended) Anyway, my girliness has never really influenced my interests a great deal. At least, I don’t think so. I have two older brothers and no sisters and, therefore, grew up in an environment that reeked primarily of maleness. I took dance lessons and had slumber parties and LOVED my Barbie dolls, but from a very young age, I really just wanted to be like my brothers. I wanted to do everything they did. I played with G.I. Joes and Matchbox cars. I adventured through the woods many times, trailing behind my oldest brother as he cut paths for us with his machete. I built forts. I always wanted to wear the boys’ hand-me-downs. I climbed trees and almost always had skinned up knees from playing outside. I watched violent, bloody action films with more enthusiasm than when I watched My Little Pony reruns. I was the ONLY girl in the 4th grade that listened to The Grateful Dead and Supertramp and knew every song from The Beatles’ White Album.
Despite all the testosterone-laden activities we partook of, however, football was never concentrated on with a lot of fervor. Sure, I remember my dad and my brothers watching football sometimes. They were (and still are) devoted Crimson Tide fans. One of my brothers even tried out for the football team at one point. But it wasn’t something that we talked about all the time. It wasn’t a force that ruled our household. It was lagniappe but not the main course (so to speak). So, maybe all of this is why I can’t make myself get excited about football.
I actually attended a football party last Saturday to watch LSU vs. Florida. I can almost always get on board with good socialization, good food, and good beer. And that’s why I accepted the invite. And, I admittedly get a kick out of watching my drunk friends scream and holler and curse and punch the air with their fists as an expression of both pleasure and rage. (I usually can’t tell which is which.) Sometimes I even play along, if I’m in a good mood. I’ll be watching the game (usually thinking about something else), and even if I don’t really understand what has happened, I’ll let out an explicative or an “Aww, yeah!” when everyone else does. Then I’ll dart my eyes around, all subtle like, to see if anyone has caught on, but nobody ever seems to notice my insincerity. I get a strange satisfaction in that. Makes me feel crafty and cool. And then I go back to reading the latest edition of “US” magazine so that I can find out why Vince Vaughn really dumped Jennifer Anniston. Yes…I actually did that very thing on Saturday.
But…I swear…I just CANNOT relate to what makes someone truly passionate about whether or not some guy in a helmet ran a certain distance with a ball to score a certain amount of points. I really just don’t get it. Where does that passion come from? Please…feel free to explain it to me. I can appreciate athletic talent and teamsmanship (made up word), but it’s not something that’s ever gonna make me refer to the referee’s mother as a “dirty, lazy, whore”. And people that get all depressed and bitchy for days on end when their favorite team looses…please find something worthy to devote your emotions to. Volunteer. Take a lover. Get a pet. Call your grandma. But spare me your pathetic complaints about how life just isn’t what you thought it was since “we lost the big game”, because I will offer you no empathy and certainly no sympathy.
All of this is one of the many, many, many reasons why I’m so in love with a certain man named David. He, too, doesn’t care all that much about football. He, too, enjoys it mostly as a socialization opportunity. He, too, would rather go for a tasty meal than watch the game. So, unlike in other relationships I’ve been in, I will never have to fake a temper tantrum over a failed attempt at a touch down just to please him. And he is, by the way, 100% heterosexual. Trust me.
(I just wanted to add before you roll your eyes and make fun of me that I will not try to slip in a mention of him in EVERY blog entry I write from now on. I’ll try not to. But I can’t make any promises of such.)
An appropriate end to this is the following quote from Jenna Fischer’s article “10 Things You Don’t Know About Women”, featured in a recent edition of Esquire. In case you don’t know who Jenna Fischer is, she’s a very funny gal on the extremely funny show, The Office. If you don’t watch it, you should. Anyway, back to the quote:
“You know what's really gay? Football. Instead of watching it, just have sex with another dude once a year. Get it all out of your system at once.”
Well said, Jenna. Well said.
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