Why I Love Me Some NFL Action

When the husband and I were first dating and sharing secrets, he warned me that he was crazy about football. I found this hard to believe since he displayed no other signs of being "one of those" guys. Seeing as I was wild about him and we were months away from the next season, it was easy to brush aside his statement. Come that September, I learned just how honest he was being. This man's enthusiam for the game runs deep...we're talking a certifiable football maniac.

We're now well into our ninth NFL season together and I find myself earnestly looking forward to the Sunday ritual. I'd even go so far as to categorize myself a fan. Because the husband is willing to explain the rules to me ad nauseam, I can keep up with the big boys when it comes to understanding what I'm watching. Even though my favorite part remains critiquing the outfits, somehow, I've developed an appreciation for what these gigantic men in tights are able to do with their bodies. And I just turn my head away when someone gets hurt.

However, I must admit, the real secret to my pigskin appreciation is blatently selfish. I love football because it means I get to spend an entire day with one of the best versions of the husband, and frankly, I'm straight up addicted to it. Sunday mornings during football season are like Xmas morning for his six-year old self. He's giddy, he's in the moment, he's running around the house shouting with glee having an out of body experience. Even when his team doesn't win, he maintains this state of elation right on through to the end of the night game. Don't even get me started on Monday Night Football, or - gasp! - the Super Bowl.

Well...now you know...true confessions of a football wife.