Gridiron Belles

It’s that time… football widows are coming out of the woodwork. The season is heating up.  The tune of our Gents’ love letters have changed.

Below is an actual letter from a football-loving-boyfriend to a less-than-football-loving-Belle. This is his plea to her as the football season ramps up. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Dear Jean Rose,

Football season is here, cupcake, but I don’t love football more than you. I promise. I’m penning this letter to let you know I love you more than football and also to go ahead and apologize in advance for all the things that might make you upset this season.

First of all, I apologize for Tripp. I know you’re still upset about last season when he got too drunk to leave and slept on our couch. I know you said it stunk for three months. I guess Febreeze doesn’t always work the way I want it to.

Second, I apologize for not wanting to hang out with your girlfriends’ guy friends from work who don’t have any guy friends of their own. It’s not that I don’t appreciate you wanting to help us “meet new couple friends,” it’s just that any other guy who doesn’t already have guy friends is friendless for a reason. Especially if he doesn’t even have friends to watch football with. Frankly, he stinks. Maybe not literally, but definitely figuratively. So I’m not coming over to watch games at his trendy loft condo with skylights and walls that are cool because they’re half brick and half plaster. I’m afraid when I get there he’ll be crying into his industry chic espresso machine.

Third, when I go out of town to attend football games I promise I won’t do keg stands this year. I’m grown now. You were right when you said keg stands were only for frat boys. You left off girls wearing skirts but I’m not holding that against you. To prove it I won’t even look at the girls wearing skirts.

Fourth, I apologize for not only being unavailable for Saturdays and Sundays in September but also for being unavailable for all of October, November, and December weekends. See, television dictates game times. And while I’m sure I can squeeze in a couple of hours before or after kickoff, I’m not even really sure when kickoff is going to be for later season games. You can imagine how difficult this is for me.

Also, and no matter what, I’m not going to your cousin Lorraine’s wedding that she scheduled for the Arkansas v LSU weekend. Not because I think she’s going to be divorced within six months of the wedding, well, I kind of do, but just because she scheduled her wedding when she did.

Fifth, I’m sorry for whatever I break when my team loses. I know this disappoints you because you “expect more from a grown man.” And I know you’re still upset from last year when I tried to be mature about breaking things and asked you to move everything that was breakable out of our den during football season so I wouldn’t be tempted.

I thought this was being “proactive” but you told me I was being “malicious and destructive and passive aggressive.” Or something like that. You used a lot of big words and lost me because you were wearing a tank top with your good bra. Not that your other bras are bad but just that one is really good.

Sixth, I apologize for not letting you wash my lucky T-shirt. I know it smells. It’s just you’ve always had a lot better sense of smell than I have. Except for those scented candles you always burn … those smell great. They’re lovely. Like burning cinnamon. You know how much I like cinnamon. But when my team is winning it could upset everything if I start washing it. Don’t worry if your friends are coming over, I’ll stay in the basement so they don’t smell me.

Seventh, when I curse in front of your nieces and nephews who have such strict parents that they’ve never even had a Coke or tasted sugar in their life, I’m not trying to corrupt them. Also, I apologize for trying to cover for myself last year and telling your nephew that I was just saying “fruck” and that when you saw a really cool truck it was a fruck. I know how much your sister Mary Claire was bothered by him picking this up so quickly. Who knew kids were such sponges? Finally, I’m not going to give the kids real sugar cookies and lots of caffeine again. I’ll give them straight shots of whiskey. It’s a joke, a joke honey. Only water. Not even any lemons.

Eighth, please don’t ask me right after a loss, while I’m still mad and cursing, whether a “silly football game” is more important than our relationship. I can’t be responsible for my answers right after a team loses. Especially if it’s because of a late fumble.

So, I guess what I’m saying is I love you … and football.

Your ever loving and supportive when it’s not football season boyfriend,

Robbie

P.S. Can I watch football at Caldwell’s house on Saturday?

 

This can only mean one heckuva football season is on it’s way. I think I’ll pen my letter to my family and suitors explaining why they are taking a backseat to the gridion…

Xs and Os,

Christie Leigh