Game Day

In honor of the impending Superbowl, I’m taking this opportunity to talk about how weird I think that guys are about sports. Many of you, gentle readers, may recognize yourselves in the descriptions below. That is probably because I’m referring to you.

I like sports in a very girl-watching-sports-with-her-friend kind of way. I watch the sports my friends like, and generally I like the teams my friends like (much to the dismay of my father and brother). I have seen sporting events on television when I am alone, but not often and not for very long. I can’t bring myself to stop my channel surfing on a game. It isn’t my deal.

Katie had an interesting theory about men and sports. Men remember sports statistics the way that women remember the dating history of everyone on 90210. (Granted, she did come up with this theory when 90210 was still on the air and fairly cool, but you get the idea.) Men watch sports like women watch chick television. We know all the sordid details about Dylan and Kelly’s affair when Brenda was in Paris. You know who kicked the game-winning field goal in that game that one year. It is the same thing; there are just more characters in football.

I have a friend who refuses to answer the phone during sporting events. It is a rule. He is strict, too. He won’t even accept phone calls from his family during a game. I don’t even think he screens during sporting events. I think he just flat out doesn’t answer. Aunt Ethel is sick? Tough cookies, game’s on.

I think it is funny when boys yell at the TV. I think grunting or yelping in frustration or yelping and grunting out of joy make more sense than yelling actual words at the television. Coaching from the couch has always been humorous to me. I recently had the pleasure of watching a Pats game with Scott who directs the players from my loveseat and congratulates himself when the coaches on the field are clever enough to pick the same play he did. Good job Bill Belichick, that is exactly how I would have handled that one myself.

It isn’t just the armchair coaching that garners self congratulations. Team accomplishments earn every fan a high-five. When I had season tickets to see the Gators play, I high-fived my share of sports fans. I hugged a stranger in the Swamp once. There is a lot of touching involved in sports. There is a ton of butt patting on the field, some back slapping, manly hugging, some lingering tackles, some friendly dog piles, some group dancing. If you didn’t know how manly athletes are, you might be wondering how manly athletes are.

It turns out that the joy of being a sports fan doesn’t end on the field, in the stadium, or even in my living room. Scott and I were at the movies, standing in the lobby. A guy, around 25 or 26 years old, came and stood oddly close to us. He nodded toward Scott’s Boston Red Sox sweatshirt.

RG: Red Sox alright!
Scott: What, oh yeah. (Looking down at his shirt)
RG: I love the Red Sox!
Scott: You from Boston?
RG: No, I'm from Sarasota.
Scott: Did you used to live in Boston?
RG: Yeah, I lived in Springfield until I was like 3. I've always been a Red Sox fan.
Scott: That's cool.
RG: Yeah.
Scott: Take it easy.
(Random Guy’s Friend comes out of the bathroom, and the two of them walk toward their theater.)
RGF: Do you know that guy?
RG: No, Red Sox, man. (Pointing to Scott’s shirt).
RGF: Red Sox alright!

Then the Random Guy and the Random Guy’s Friend high-five.

Wait; let that digest for a second. They high-fived. In the movie theater. Over seeing a Boston fan.

So I’m ready for Superbowl Sunday. I’m planning my couch coach strategy. I’m warming up my high-five hand (don’t you wonder how?), and I’m preparing my palate for some of Scott’s Superbowl Jambalaya.

And if you and I can’t be together on that Sunday, watching the Pats beat down the Eagles; remember that we are together in spirit. Give yourself a high five from me.