I had no idea my husband liked football — or beer — until after we were married.
We met in college, got engaged the summer after I graduated, married that Christmas. The reason I didn’t see him watching football or listening to sports radio was because he was too busy.
Since men who like football and drink beer don’t have feelings, don’t think, most certainly don’t respect women, and don’t even like women who don’t dress in skimpy costumes and prance around looking cute, imagine my shock and dismay that first football season. Sunday after Sunday, not to mention Monday nights…
Fast-forward to the other night, when Fox broadcast the pre-season game between the Steelers and the Redskins.
I was actually excited.
(My folks are from Pittsburgh and I’ve always been fond of that city. And my husband has been a Redskins fan since childhood; he grew up in the D. C. area.)
I’ve discovered that football can be fun, that beer can taste good, and that my husband can love me well even though he likes these things.
This change has certainly taken a long time. We’ve been married almost nine years now. And I think this is the first fall that I’ve actually looked forward to football season. First came endurance, then tolerance, then acceptance, along with the scary and disheartening conviction that I ought to try to share his interest, then enjoying the brisk air and fellowship of sitting in the high school stands (husband was a teacher) and occasionally seeing a play I understood — and now I understand a lot more plays, I can tell which team has possession, and I can follow the ball much better. I still hate the sports radio and most of the commentary, pre- and post-game shows and interviews. But the game itself, and watching with my husband, is not so bad.
As for beer, the first beer I liked was a Czech beer we had somewhere in Prague. Crisp, dry, light, actually refreshing. How about that! We still both dislike most big domestic beers, but my husband enjoyed getting a “beers of the world” twelve-pack for Christmas one year and that sort of thing, and I enjoy sometimes tasting them.
My husband is not artistic or musical. That’s another story and another trial that we have largely worked through and overcome and grown because of. But he has and expresses feelings, he thinks, and he respects me and other women; he even finds my far-from-cheerleader looks attractive.
But will the Steelers make it to the SuperBowl this year?