Doing the good-girlfriend bit.

Twice a week I attend football games; approximately six and a half to seven hours of my life are spent sitting on a cold, hard bench-sometimes in the rain-, watching a sport I really, really hate. First off, I don't get it. All I do really is single out a person that this is cheering for us and what ever noise they make, I make louder and then throw in a few words of my own to make it less banal.

As well it always seems that when ever Lover makes a touch down or tackles someone or intercepts the ball, or does anything good for that matter, I am never looking. So when he excitedly bounces over to me after the game asking, "Did you see my touch down? Did you see my tackle that guy? Did you see me...", I lie, paste on a happy smile and say, "Of course I did baby! You are such the little football star!"

Which is true; he is the only one keeping the team alive... I just never notice.

Needless to say, I was happy beyond belief when football season was coming to an end. That meant that when we hung out during the weekday I wouldn't have to wait until seven for practice to be over. It also meant I wouldn't have to go to two games a week.

Surprise, surprise! "NO!" the Football God yells to me, "NO, NO! Lover, it just so happens, is going to play offs. Which means if they do well you could have MONTHS of football ahead of you. HAH HAH!"

As happy as I was for him, I couldn't help but feel unadulterated disdain for his ability to play the stupid game well at the very moment. Why did I have to go? Why couldn't he just play the damn game and then I come afterwards to see him?! Well, the answer is that he actually proposed that, knowing how much I hate the sport. But I said no for a few reasons:

1. I enjoy seeing him do what he loves, and doing it well. It makes me happy when he is happy.
2. No one else comes. His parents never come, nor do any of his friends. So I'm really the only one there to cheer him on.
3. He likes it when I come, which makes him happy; which goes back to point one.

So I go, and I smile, and I pretend that I see his touch downs and tackles.

Thursday (the 30th of October), I want to the second to last game he would be playing before going off to state (the last being on All Hallows Eve). I brought my book to read, my iPod to listen to, and even some homework to do notes because that's often what I do. But to my surprise I actually noticed his touch down! And his tackle! And everything he was doing! But I should have known...

Long story short, he broke his hand. The coaches wouldn't take him out when it was first injured, and because he just can't disappoint people, he played for another quarter with a limp hand, all the while it getting worse and worse.

I now hate the coaches for being so selfish.

Now he can't go to playoffs (though he did want to, arguing that the cast would be hard enough to protect his hand for damage) and when I am sorry that he has to wait until next year to show of his amazing skills, I'm kind of happy that I no longer have football games and practices! He is all mine!

....

Until track season.

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And let's not forget Speech & Debate, which takes up BOTH our Saturdays, even though we don't get to see each other often.

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And work.

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And the 4.0 we both have to maintain. [sigh]