So I don’t think that it’s any secret that my knowledge of the NFL is very limited.
And by very limited, I mean that I pick a team based on who has the cutest quarterback and whose team colors match the nicest.
(Let me tell you one thing there, Minnesota Vikings! I will never be able to cheer for you, because PURPLE AND YELLOW??? What colorblind individual handed out your first jerseys? It’s nothing personal; it’s just that y’all don’t match.)
This always makes Hubs proud, especially when I interrupt his game focus to ask, “Why are we kicking?” And then he has to look at me and with an expression that clearly says, WHAT IS IT ABOUT THE FOURTH DOWN THAT YOU HAVE FAILED TO UNDERSTAND DURING THE TWO THOUSAND TIMES I HAVE EXPLAINED IT TO YOU?
Anyway, last night I did my level best to sit in front of the Bronco game, because Hubs ordered Jimmy John’s sandwiches for dinner, and we ate in front of the TV, exactly like the Heck family from The Middle. I was all, OH! YOU ASKED FOR AVOCADO ON MY SANDWICH, and I may have never loved Hubs more than right then. Because the avocado? Yes, please!
And somewhere about the time that all the avocado was gone, the Bronco defense fell asleep, and Hubs felt the need to jump to his feet and give them a lecture that would have stripped the hide off of a toughened pig. I told Hubs, “Well. Had you just lectured ME like that, I would have burst into tears and collapsed from grief on the field.”
It’s why I don’t play football.
That and the small fact that can you even imagine being tackled from behind when you’re on a dead run and having your face smashed into the ground? And then there’s the little issue of getting the grass stains out of the white pants, because the same person who picked purple and yellow for the Vikings must have also decided that HEY! LET’S ALL PLAY IN WHITE PANTS, WHICH WILL SHOW ALL THE GRASS AND DIRT AND KEEP TIDE IN BUSINESS FOR YEARS TO COME!
Poor Hubs was pretty much in need of the paddles for his heart last night, and, in my efforts to keep him alive and still bringing home his paychecks, I suggested that perhaps he might want to take an aspirin to just thin that blood out a little bit.
And then somewhere along the line, when the Broncos looked beaten down and headed for the sewage pipes, somebody decided to wake up on the defense and begin playing offense like they’ve been trained to do. Hubs settled down, and then he began cheering his boys on for the rest of the night. His adrenaline was high, people, until the final whistle blew and the Broncos came out of the messy ordeal with a win.
We’re pretty sure that it was Hubs’ verbal lecture that turned that game around and saved the train wreck from happening.
Eventually the boy waltzed through our front door, because he had been out golfing in the misty rain, and declared that he and his buddies had had the very best time.
(Since I dropped the boy off at the golf course that afternoon, I snapped a couple of pictures; it’s what I do.)
Give or take, obviously.
But apparently our boy golfs better than the Bronco defense stops touchdowns from happening.
Y’all have a great Tuesday evening.