I thought about that for awhile. I remembered something my mother had told me years ago: “Find that one thing your man does. The one thing he really enjoys. Find it and join him. Don’t just tag along, going through the motions. Do it with him. You’ll find he’s more willing to join in on your things if you lead off with his.”
So I replied to my future husband: “Sure thing. Just teach me the game.” I only had a few requests:
- I begged him not to do the normal guy thing of talking over my head when explaining the game, calls, and who does what. You know what I mean. When they explain something and use the exact word while defining the term. Now how crazy is that? (Like asking someone what an election is and they reply by saying “it’s when you elect someone for office.” Sure. Right. Clear as mud. Fuckyouverymuch)
- Not to yell at me if I asked a question at the wrong time. Cause I knew I was gonna do it without even trying. I was gonna do while specifically trying not to do it. That’s how these things work. Considering football is for those with ADD, and you never know how long you have between plays… I was bound to ask a question at that pivotal moment when Brett Farve gets injured and taken out of the game.
- Tivo saved our marriage on this front. We got it 2nd or 3rd season in. We could rewind as many times as needed, pause TV as long as it took for me to understand something, then catch up to real time during those 5 million commercial breaks. The day I suggested Tivo to help us wacth the game? Steve nearly drove the car off the road from the shock and thrill of it. He placed the order exactly 3 minutes after walking in the door when we got home.
- And please oh please don’t make me feel like a 3rd wheel… especially if it’s just the two of us in the room. Cause that? That’s just mean hearted.
He held up his end of the bargain. Not only did he do all I requested. He found ways to enthrall me. He quickly learned I could care less about stats. But I did like gossip. So he pointed out the player who got busted in college for taking a dump in some chick’s dorm room closet. (Davenport) And the guy who loves Batman so much he has an emblem on his arm, car, and all over his house. (Green) Then there’s the guy that when he was younger, he and his mother lived out of their station wagon with a U-Haul attached to the back. (Driver) All that kept my attention going when I found I just couldn’t pay attention one moment longer. Because now? Now I was interested in the actual players.
So our first year together we managed to score some tickets to see the Packers against in the Giants in New York. Paid face vale for 60 yard line seats, about 6th row if I recall. We got these awesome tickets at face value because the game was held in January. Outside. It was expected to be cold. Very Cold. New York cold. It was also the make-up game from the week of 9/11. My husband being a native New Yorker and all that… it almost didn’t matter who won the game. We just needed to be there.
And I had ideas. I knew cold, having grown up in Indiana. And I knew sitting still in the cold. Just because I’ve spent the 2nd half of my life in a state where I can get away with a nice enough leather jacket for the winter, doesn’t mean I don’t recall cold. Steve, meanwhile, has never really left the cold north. So he has lots of warm winter coats. But the really warm one? The down-filled, Michelin-Man type coat? That one was Packer Green. And I was intent that I’d be the one wearing it.
Steve tried talking me out of it. He tried bribing me with the idea of shopping for my very own down coat. (A tactic that usually worked as long as he came along for the trip.) I refused. We didn’t really have the money. We really didn’t have the money for the tickets and trip but I wasn’t passing that gem up. And, really, when would I use the coat again. Nope. Rather take that money and shop for something I can use again. Like a nice pair of heels. Something that makes my ass do that thing that makes my husband walk behind me when I wear them.
Finally he broke down and said “Honey, I don’t feel comfortable taking you to Giants Stadium with you dressed in Packer Green. It could get nasty.”
“Pshaw,” I said. “They don’t scare me. Anyone starts something and I’ll just put on my best Scarlett O’Hara accent and start yelling for everyone to watch the big bad man beat up the 5′2″, 95 pound girl. I must be really intimidating to scare such a big boy. Don’t you worry. Whoever it is will back right off. And if they don’t, half the stadium will be after him. The other half will be laughing at him.”
And with that, it was settled.
And game day rolls around. I bundle up. I’m excited. I mean, heck, I’m the wife who’s involving herself in the sport her husband loves. Which gives me diva points to squirrel away for a rainy day. I’m feeling good.
We drive into the parking lot. Get out. Start walking toward the stadium. Passing people grilling beside their cars. Tossing footballs around. And everyone is dressed in blue. Except me, of course. I’m dressed in green. Packer green. And I suddenly get, this isn’t about the Packers. This is about pack mentality. I lean into my fiancé, grab his hand and whisper. “I get it now. And I’m scared.”
… to be continued…
