Sunday, January 23, 2011

My Mixed Marriage

Thus so wretched is man that he would weary even without any cause for weariness... and so frivolous is he that, though full of a thousand reasons for weariness, the least thing, such as playing billiards or hitting a ball, is sufficient enough to amuse him. ~Blaise Pascal

My husband is a sports fan.

It doesn't much matter what sport it is. Oh, he doesn't follow them all with the same worshipful attention. But he can find something he likes (or something he knows) about each and every televised event, be it college or professional.

To be fair, he writes for a newspaper, and at one time he even bore the title 'Sports Editor'. This meant our very lives were enhanced in a measurable way by the efforts of others who donned jerseys and competed against one another in organized competition. So in a sense, there was a time when I had a reason to care about sports.

I am not a sports fan.

Allow me to clarify and elucidate the depth of my sports-atheism. I follow no team. I have no allegiances. I don't care which group of overpaid individuals is putting its smeary fingerprints on any trophy while being showered with confetti and wearing Official Championship HatsTM. A game (particularly the frequent and endless standing-around bit) feels like a nine-hour insurance seminar. I understand the rules. I get the objective. I just don't care.

Don't get me wrong; I 'Understand The Value Of Sports' for kids, etc etc. I get it; exercise, teamwork, yaay. But all those things are benefits of PLAYING. Watching a man who makes more money while he's standing there shaking what God and his mama gave him back into the correct quadrant of his pants than I make in 10 years is of more dubious value. He's going to win or lose, get renewed or traded, reconcile with his third wife or marry his fourth, and there are a hundred in line behind him to play the same game when his turn is done.

Sometimes I wonder if he's disappointed in my lack of interest, my 'just show me the last two laps/pitch/thirty seconds and I'm happy' approach to paying attention to any game. I know I have interests he finds less than enthralling. At least I can make pretty kickass if we do attend a social event that is built on the premise of watching some kind of sporting event I can at least come bearing a dish that, I hope, makes up for the fact that I'm only there for the chat and the commercials. And for those of you who, whether secretly or overtly share my antipathy....
.....see you in the kitchen. I'll bring wine.