Every once in a while, you can catch me at a sporting event.
You can find me decked out in my sporting gear and screaming at the ref for making a bad call. You can find me shotgunning a beer when "my" team scores a touchdown. And you can even find me getting f*cking pissed when my team loses.
The real kicker here is that I have no actual idea what the f*ck is going on. And by "shotgunning," I mean "ferociously chugging half my can of beer and then sitting down for a couple of minutes to take a breather because my tummy hurts too bad."
Oh, and that anger I feel when "our" team loses? Probably misplaced feelings about an ex or a too-vague "Keeping Up With the Kardashians" episode conclusion.
The truth is that I do not enjoy sports. I do not enjoy playing them, and I sure as hell do not enjoy watching them. What I DO enjoy is drinking and hanging out with my friends, which is the only reason why I’d ever want to go to a sporting event in the first place.
As a result of my not-so-unique and (I’d like to believe) endearing blend of mild alcoholism and severe FOMO, I often find myself living a lie.
I am totally and completely one of those girls who pretend to like sports but really couldn’t give less of a sh*t about them.
I go to sporting events to get drunk.
The first time I got really drunk was at a baseball game in high school. The Giants were playing a team I didn’t know, and I was bored, so I got very, very, very drunk. It ended up being a fun night -- and that is where my love affair with pretending to enjoy sports began.
After college, it’s difficult to find an arena where binge drinking is socially acceptable. So I drink at sporting events.
I care more about the personal lives of the players than their stats.
When the Patriots won the World Series or whatever, my first thought was, Must find cute pics of Gisele and Tom Brady looking at each other with love and victory in their eyes -- OMG, did Bridget Moynahan show up?! She’s so classy; I bet she at least congratulated him. NEED DETAILS NOW.
In case you were wondering, there are tons of cute pics of Tom and Gisele lovingly looking at each other after he won, and Bridget Moynahan DID congratulate him.
I once spent an entire Warriors game reading up on the entire timeline of Steph and Ayesha Curry’s romance. No, I could not tell you how many points Curry scored that night, but I could tell you that he and Ayesha met at a church youth group and both share a love for the same obscure Canadian candy.
I love going HAM on fan gear.
Water misting fan?! YEP! Foam finger?! STICK IT ON ME! Jersey?! LOVE IT! T-shirt with a fun inside joke that only fans of our team would understand, like “Let Timmy Smoke” or “Free Brady?” Is that a joke? IDK?! GOTTA HAVE IT.
I love getting irrationally upset when our team loses.
An excuse to drunkenly cry and belligerently scream?! COUNT ME IN. That is, until the loss interferes with us going to the bar. At that point, let’s get over it. Like, come on, guys... it was just a game.
Who I consider to be “our team" changes a lot.
Who’s winning? Who has the cutest uniforms? Whose players are dating my favorite celebrities? All are important questions I take into consideration before declaring ownership of a team. Even then, it's not set in concrete.
I ask a lot of questions, and I genuinely could not care less about any of the answers.
I ask only because it makes it seem like I genuinely care about learning. The problem is, beyond the fact that I don’t genuinely care, I’m realistically so drunk that I will forget ever having asked the question and/or your answer. Sorry.
My team preference is heavily dependent on who has the hottest players/fans.
I’m not trying to cheer on a bunch of uggos here. WHERE DA HOTTIES AT?!
I make an effort to learn random keywords to yell in order to trick people into thinking I know what I’m talking about.
No, I never know what any of these keywords mean. But I do feel very cool yelling, “COME ON, DEFENSE! LET’S DO THIS! IT'S THE THIRD DOWN!"
Sports bars with no music are the bane of my existence.
WHAT THE F*CK DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO WHEN I GET BORED IF THERE IS NO MUSIC?! If there is no “Sweet Caroline” for me to sing along to, count me out.
The snacks are the only thing getting me through the Super Bowl.
Seven-layer dips and sliders and wings and hot dogs all in one place?! YUM. SIGN ME UP.
I have fallen asleep at multiple sporting events.
This is mostly because sporting events are long and I’m usually drunk. If I’m not drunk, I’m asleep because I’m bored.
I think of sports like fashion and literally follow whichever one is “trendy” at any given moment.
You should have SEEN how into “The Big Fight” I got -- until I found out I would have to pay $99 to actually watch it on pay-per-view.
But I definitely loved talking mad sh*t about Pacquiao and tweeting about Mayweather’s #TheMoneyTeam.
I eventually start believing my own lie.
I so passionately pretend to care about the fate of this team that I often find my drunk self believing my own lie. By the end of the game, I actually want to cry if my team lost, even though I really do have no right to call it “my” team, and I also have no idea how it is that we lost.
I sh*t on the other team more than actual fans do.
I have learned that I do not possess what actual sports fans call a “sports etiquette.” I boo the other team and frequently yell “F*CK (name of team we are playing against)!”
I also like throwing in a few nasty comments about the players’ moms. Though this seems to disturb lots of people, it’s also a safer bet than using my trusty keywords. (Things get complicated when my team isn’t on the defense and I run out of things to say.)
I never have any idea what the f*ck is going on.
I think that’s the bottom line here. My love of sports has about as much depth as Paris Hilton.