I Heart Football (And I have the bruises to prove it)

It's no secret to my family and friends, so I guess I shouldn't keep it from the blogging world either...I am a football fanatic. I guess it has something to do with having a father who eats, sleeps and breathes football. My dad played football in high school and college, and every Sunday from late August-early February, you can find him stationed in front of the t.v., screaming for his favorite team. I learned very quickly not to even attempt having a conversation with him on game day. It was useless...he wouldn't remember anything you said anyway.

Me, being the daddy's girl that I am, decided that I too would dedicate my Sundays to football. Just so I could hang with Pops. Now, I think my love of the game may have surpassed his. It's not often I have a voice left after watching my college team or the Steelers play. The boyfriend, who I'll refer to as, The Hoff, is convinced that I'm going to have a heart attack at the age of 24. Like I said, I love football. And if high blood pressure and strained vocal chords don't say love, I don't know what does.

Anyway, so this weekend, like many of my fall weekends, consisted of football. There was a slight interlude on Friday night where I grabbed drinks with my gay BFF, Just Jack, at his fav. bar. Love going to his bar with him. I can go there looking like poo and not worry about it, they play better music than any straight bar I've been to, and to top it off, we get free drinks! Of course, when Just Jack came by to pick me up, I left him patiently waiting for a good 30 minutes. I thought I made pretty good time considering I had to shower, pack and make pasta salad for a tailgate on Saturday. He thought otherwise, and made it known with his trademark sarcastic quips. Nonetheless, we finally made it to the 'mo bar and I helped him scope out some attractive men while getting a lil' tipsy in the process.

Saturday was game day. And a game face was definitely needed for this particular football game. The high for Saturday was low-mid 30s with a wind chill in the 20s. Probably not a big deal for New Englanders, but for a Southern girl like myself, that is downright brutal. I even used every secret pocket I could find in my ski jacket and hoodie to smuggle beer into the stadium in effort to keep warm. By the third quarter, I couldn't take it any longer. It was obvious my team was going to win, so I ducked out early and spent the remainder of the afternoon defrosting. (Please note: I know leaving a game early does not reflect a true, hardcore fan. This is the only time I have done this and will hopefully be the last.)

Sunday, I obliged The Hoff by going to a sports bar to watch his team play. (The game wasn't being broadcast at his house.) The Hoff is from New England, and hence, he is a Patriots fan...one of his many flaws. The Pats slaughtered the Steelers last season-I shouldn't be at a bar watching, let alone cheering for them. But I decided to swallow my pride, hoping it would earn me girlfriend brownie points. (In actuality, I heart watching the Pats play this season. I'll take any opportunity I can to watch Matt Cassel run around in tight pants...but The Hoff doesn't need to know that.)

So anyway, a good five beers later, we head back, arm-in-arm, to The Hoff's car. Between the beer and my shoes-these cute, brown flats from Nine West with absolutely NO grip to them-gravity was not in my favor. I'm rambling, as I tend to do after five beers, and mid-sentence, my feet completely slip out from under me. I try grabbing The Hoff, hoping he'd catch me like a good knight in shining armor should. I guess my killer grip was too much for him, because I sent him stumbling forward, flinging our to-go box of wings out in front of him. It must have looked something like this:

I just wanted to watch football, not experience the injuries first-hand. Nonetheless, I'm left with a wounded foot, a bruised ass and a ruined pair of flats. Obviously, my biggest concern was the flats. The Hoff redeemed himself by taking me straight to the mall so I could look for a new pair. No new flats, but I did get ice cream out of the trip.

The things we go through for love...