It's Hard Being a Woman in Love with a Man Who Doesn't Love Football
It's the most insane thing I could have ever imagined for myself.
I found the one guy in the world who not only knows almost nothing about football, but could give a flip about the game altogether.
You have to admit, it's pretty hard to come by such a thing in a guy.
His knowledge is about as expansive as that of a person watching ESPN for the very first time. If he knows a player, it's because he heard his name in the mainstream for some reason other than playing their respective sport.
Either that or he saw him on an episode of "Punk'd."
That's how he came to know Terrell Owens.
He has never read any of the blogs I have written, mostly because he is lost when I begin speaking to him about my topics—whatever they may be.
He finds my allegiance to the Georgia Bulldogs to be humorous, what with my whole banning of the color orange and proclaiming game days as "off limits" for any other planned activities.
The jokester that he is, he takes a fiendish pleasure in cheering for the Bulldogs' opposition on game days.
I often find no humor in this and have banned him from being around during any SEC or Championship games in which the Dawgs play.
His idea of a good weekend is movies and prepping his car for yet another car show.
My idea, at least between late August and early December, is ESPN College GameDay followed by blogging and honing up on the Georgia opponent for that day.
To him, February is the month of his birthday.
For me, it's National Signing Day for prep recruits.
His fondest memory of our first year together, in 1997, is a trip we took to Savannah to celebrate our anniversary.
My memory of that year is a Georgia win over Florida, 37-17.
He has to leave the room during games where Georgia is losing for fear that he might find his head the target of a remote, a pillow, a phone, or a beverage.
The Alabama Blackout Game last season was particularly unpleasant for him.
I'm not sure, I myself may have blacked it out, but I think I threatened to set his car on fire if he applauded for Bama one more time.
His car is his baby.
It's his thing.
So, in his mind, a Georgia loss is a minor annoyance.
However, I take losses like daggers through the heart.
Days after the game, I am still trying to sort through the plays and flip through the stats to find where the holes exist—as if I can possibly get the ear of Mike Bobo, Willie Martinez, or Mark Richt, so I can tell them, "Hey, this is where you need to tighten up for next week."
To him, yes.
To a sports fan with a die-hard passion for their team, you know precisely where I am coming from right now.
I follow football, both college and pro, as if it were my lifeline.
During the offseason, I find solace in the NFL Draft because it gives me a couple months to speculate and research who might be my team's pick.
I record the NFL Combine because I like to watch it in peace and quiet. I feel like a scout myself, watching the guys running 40s, doing the three-cone drills, and performing the passing drills.
That's fun and exciting stuff for me.
Those things are my way of getting my fix until I can watch another football game.
All of these things are lost on the hubby as his passion lies in building his baby (pictured above). I try hard to share in that passion of his by learning all that I can about his love of restoration, and trust me, I know more about cars than I ever thought possible.
That's cool, because it gives us something else to talk about at the dinner table.
Besides, I love the guy. He's a great father and a sweet husband. It's the least I can do.
Of course, he does feel pretty good about the fact that I will take a jersey over jewelry on Valentine's Day.
That works out fine for him.
Although that Diamond Dawgs watch was a nice anniversary gift.
I did mention he was a sweetheart, right?
So, I forgive him for his lack of football knowledge or Bulldog loyalty, but I often have to chuckle at the irony of it all because it reminds me that God definitely has a sense of humor.
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