Ladies, quit complaining and enjoy football season.
I live with three boys, counting Husband, and every year, when our oppressive Florida heat downshifts into simply sweltering, they begin The Ritual. This annual event involves fantasy spreadsheets, sports radio and worrying about things called "stats." It involves sitting on the couch with sperm-killing laptops. It involves shouting about hamstrings and zero effort, not to mention inept and sometimes corrupt referees, as well as a few hoots and hollers if the Bucs or Pats score a touchdown.
I don't understand what my family is doing and I don't care. You want to know why? Because the kids are earning good grades in school and my husband sat through Eat, Pray, Love.
In other words, they've earned one afternoon a week.
If your man works hard and occasionally completes his honey-do list the first time you ask, why shouldn't he relax with his kids or friends and root for his favorite team? It's a bonding experience and a lot like their interest in power tools — we don't need to get it, but we should support it.
Football season benefits us as well.
It's a golden opportunity to enjoy some guilt-free alone time. Fill the tub with bubbles. Grab a good book. Exercise your fat ass. Learn a trade. Take up a hobby. Give the guys in your life some breathing space and enjoy the break you all deserve.
If this is an idea you can't get behind, maybe the problem isn't football.
You might be stuck with a lazy man who hangs around the house every day, ignoring you and your lists, while carrying on an affair with his Wifi. Don't blame organized sports. Blame yourself for being relegated to maid status when you deserve so much more.
I'm not even a football fan. Hockey or basketball is more my speed. Those games are fast, exciting, and played inside arenas. I love arenas. Outdoor sports in Florida are disgusting. Sweat, mixed with sunblock, drips down into my eyeballs and I can't see a thing. If I don't wear sunblock, then I sit there dying of skin cancer. What's fun about that?
Football isn't perfect. Live and in person, it's expensive, and to say it lasts forever isn't exactly accurate — it lasts much longer. Watching the game on television is better because I can leave. I get annoyed with commercials that too often belittle and objectify women. I don't approve of idolizing spoiled athletes who are indulged and overpaid. But this is exactly why I periodically enter the family room on Sundays, from September through February, to offer insight and wisdom where potato chips go to die.
"Real women can't do *that*."
"He's no hero. He catches a ball for a living. Try explaining to teenagers how the Versailles Treaty led to World War II. That's your fucking hero."
"Did you know more women are battered during the Super Bowl than any other time of year?"
"Beer makes you think stupid women are attractive, and five years later you're stuck in a trailer with illegitimate children and several venereal diseases."
Husband usually responds with, "That Super Bowl story is a myth, beer helped me convince you to get married and real women do *that* all the time."
I'm in the mix, reminding impressionable children about important values and helping them to filter out the garbage. We shouldn't ignore bad messages, hoping they go away. We tried that with Rick Perry and now he's running for president.
I don't have to like football to see its value to the men in my life. At the very least, I pick up interesting talking points that impress male colleagues. You can, too. Try this at the next board meeting: "Hey guys, I'll take an injured Peyton over a healthy Eli any day of the week."
I have no idea what that means, but my stock goes up at work and my men are happy at home. In the end, they're satisfied with a silly game, decent sound system, some pizza, and a few chicken wings. Football is mindless entertainment and a way to escape for a few hours. What's so bad about that?
Smile and cheer for the Bucs. It won't kill you.
This article appears in Sep 29 – Oct 5, 2011.