As I sit here watching my man do what thousands of men do every weekend, I am flabbergasted at the power that this game has over him. It starts early in the week with nightly conversations of who has got to beat whom to be able to go to this bowl game or that. I nod my head and throw in enough "yeah, really's?" To satisfy his manly desire to have his wife care or even remotely understand what the hell he's talking about. You tell me if they are the guys in the white pants or the blue ones and I may follow you better. FYI< don't wear the white, protest as much as possible. I am always amazed at the whole jock strap line and why their designers did not know this.
And after the week long study session on the game, they stats, the players... game day approaches. This means that the ENTIRE family must wear the appropriate colors, preferably in netting, as in jersey. Never mind we have a wedding to go to, by golly, it's Saturday and we will all be in Red & Black! This is the first step in the child brainwashing section of the ritual. I think men breed just to have spawn to teach chants and hand signals to on game days. IE: My children now repeat,"Get your guns up." Which it totally legitimate in Lubbock, TX, but Indiana is another story. Not so well received from the outside world.
Follow the attire with the ceremonially hanging of the flag on the front of the house. Side note: We will actually hang a college flag on our house, but have yet to string one Christmas light... Ever! Is it really that much harder?
But I do think the game has a seriously overbearing control over his mind when we are changing shirts in the 2nd quarter to "Change things up a bit." I never see him do this when we are in a fight. Just change shirts and see if things go a little smoother, a little more in his favor. Maybe that's what I should start doing. You know, I take my shirt off, he loses concentration of what we are fighting about and argument diverted. I totally think it would work.
Now, I don't mean to sound like a prissy wife who doesn't enjoy a little football. I do, I am right there fist pounding, chest bumping, beer drinking, but the build up. The life consuming ways of man just elude me. The scaring the crap out of the cat, and frankly making me inch a bit closer to the door is unnerving.
But for better or worse, that's what the priest said, I will continue to nod my head, wear my colors and chase it all down with some Bud Light. But I am wondering, will he do the same for me on Black Friday?
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