I Heard There's Something Going On Sunday
This post is directed at women.
Yes, that sucking sound that just graced your ears was the shreds of whatever credibility I may have had to begin with packing it up and heading for the nearest parallel dimension.
Anyway, the hypothetical quandry facing you is this: your not-really-better-half is into the Super Bowl, and you are not.
You may have a guy in your life whom, for reasons that are probably buried in the deepest recesses of male genetic code, cannot stop talking about The Big Game. Even now, 96 or more hours before the actual rumble. A guy who will sacrifice the niceties of life like social contact, marital responsibility, or oxygen in order to watch a pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-game show about the Super Bowl at 10 am. On Saturday morning.
It's possible that your guy doesn't care one whit about Super Sunday and doesn't have any friends who care one whit about it. You are possibly among the luckiest of all women, who instead on the big day will be treated to a romantic picnic out in the fields where you can lie on the grass and admire the twin suns of the planet Beta Nonexistus III, where you live. However, if you are less fortunate and reside on Earth, this is not a likely scenario. It may seem like a Herculean feat to put up with this silliness without considering measures similar to the Lorena Bobbitt Final Solution, but I am here to implore you to perservere.
For many guys, professional sports fandom presents an opportunity to fantasize about something which they could never actually do in this world outside the Matrix - compete in professional sports. The Super Bowl is the crown jewel of this indulgence, a day of unparalleled excitement for millions of out-of-shape guys who would probably hurt themselves performing a touchdown celebration. I plead with you to let us have this day - we let ourselves get dragged off to see You've Got Mail, didn't we? Which I guarantee you we didn't like. And if we did, we would never admit it to you.
It doesn't make much sense at all, but to a guy it really doesn't have to. Just let the dog have his day and he'll probably be much more likely to behave afterwards. For no reasonable cause, we love football, and we love those twins. But like the commercial says, we do love you too. Absolutely.
Just maybe not as much as football.
pb78
Yes, that sucking sound that just graced your ears was the shreds of whatever credibility I may have had to begin with packing it up and heading for the nearest parallel dimension.
Anyway, the hypothetical quandry facing you is this: your not-really-better-half is into the Super Bowl, and you are not.
You may have a guy in your life whom, for reasons that are probably buried in the deepest recesses of male genetic code, cannot stop talking about The Big Game. Even now, 96 or more hours before the actual rumble. A guy who will sacrifice the niceties of life like social contact, marital responsibility, or oxygen in order to watch a pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-game show about the Super Bowl at 10 am. On Saturday morning.
It's possible that your guy doesn't care one whit about Super Sunday and doesn't have any friends who care one whit about it. You are possibly among the luckiest of all women, who instead on the big day will be treated to a romantic picnic out in the fields where you can lie on the grass and admire the twin suns of the planet Beta Nonexistus III, where you live. However, if you are less fortunate and reside on Earth, this is not a likely scenario. It may seem like a Herculean feat to put up with this silliness without considering measures similar to the Lorena Bobbitt Final Solution, but I am here to implore you to perservere.
For many guys, professional sports fandom presents an opportunity to fantasize about something which they could never actually do in this world outside the Matrix - compete in professional sports. The Super Bowl is the crown jewel of this indulgence, a day of unparalleled excitement for millions of out-of-shape guys who would probably hurt themselves performing a touchdown celebration. I plead with you to let us have this day - we let ourselves get dragged off to see You've Got Mail, didn't we? Which I guarantee you we didn't like. And if we did, we would never admit it to you.
It doesn't make much sense at all, but to a guy it really doesn't have to. Just let the dog have his day and he'll probably be much more likely to behave afterwards. For no reasonable cause, we love football, and we love those twins. But like the commercial says, we do love you too. Absolutely.
Just maybe not as much as football.
pb78
posted by pandabear78 at 11:17 PM
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