10 Thoughts Uninterested Girlfriends Have When Forced To Watch Football On Sundays

by Alexis Gutter

To the chagrin of uninterested girlfriends all across America, NFL RedZone (or what I warmly refer to as “the perennial mistress”) has re-anchored its roots in relationships for the rest of the year, and then some.

Some ladies take the optimistic route and try to join the fun — if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, right?

But soon, the mistress’ shadow will pervade your summer high and deflate any modicum of excitement you previously held for boots season, chunky sweaters or pumpkin spice lattes.

Basic generalizations aside, when it comes to sports and my stereotypically feminine resistance to it, I’m unapologetic — and I know I’m not alone.

I fully support and admire my sports-loving female counterparts, but I’ll conveniently cite liberal feminism on this one; I would 300 percent rather get a manicure than pretend to care about covering the spread when “covering the spread” does not refer to manning the food table.

For better or for worse, here is what happens when you lie to yourself, and to your significant other, about being “perfectly happy” to watch football on Sunday:

1. You have no idea what’s happening (nor do you care).

When the game starts, he explains to you what’s happening in a loving, yet patronizing inflection, as if he’s teaching you how to read.

Example: “That’s a pass in-ter-cep-tion!”

His ultra-low appraisal of your comprehension initially irritates you, but he’s actually right.

2. You wonder why you're there.

...after, oh, I don’t know, 20 minutes, when everyone else is legitimately engrossed in the game and is only communicating in caveman grunts, expletives and ALL CAPS TEXT MESSAGES to members of their fantasy leagues and/or fraternity.

3. But then, you remember: Your waffle fries arrive and you pour yourself some Bud Light from one of the several pitchers on the table.

You pat yourself on the back for being able to hang. You smile on, watching the multiple TV screens to judge the players on their thighs and butts.

4. More time passes; your fries get cold and you internally concede that your Bud Light is more gross than it is fun to be drinking on a Sunday afternoon.

You regret calling the guy next to you "basic" because his vodka soda is looking much better than the fermented pee you’re gulping.

5. You’re feeling strapped for distractions, as you’ve already checked out every Snapchat story in your feed.

...including those that belong to people with whom you haven’t had any contact in several years.

You wonder both why you’re even friends with these ex-acquaintances on such a creepy-intimate platform and what they think upon seeing that you viewed their Snapchat stories — do they even notice at all?

This line of wondering distracted you for approximately four minutes (and subsequently led you to wonder how you’ve made it so many years without procuring an anti-anxiety medication prescription).

But now, you’re back to square one (read: distracting yourself from the game on TV that you find about as attention grabbing as C-SPAN).

6. Seriously? Just halftime? Who invented the rules for this absurd athletic time-suck?

It must have been someone who had so much time on his hands and definitely didn’t have a hot wife. You try to check out the Wikipedia page for football to get a partially correct answer, but it isn’t loading because every dude in this testosterone brothel is on his phone checking scores.

You settle for just spreading lies: “An old, bored guy in Ancient Rome invented an early paradigm of football because he had a famously hideous, boring wife, from whom he would stop at no lengths to spend as much time away as possible.

That’s why the clock stops during games at any and every possible point. The more you know!”

7. No one here is interested in your fabricated history lesson.

Actually, the basic guy drinking vodka sodas is down to talk, as he unsurprisingly opted out of this year’s fantasy league. He’s the best. You really wish you didn’t demoralize him for his basic-ness.

8. You realize that the length to which you will go to avoid gyms and physical fitness is truly notable.

You long ago learned that pre-paying for 20 yoga classes wouldn’t get you downward-dogging, but you never suspected that your anti-exercise, iron will would send you to a sports bar.

You’re proud of yourself for being so strong (in your convictions, not in muscle mass).

9. Your guy’s team is losing and he grows visibly angry. Since you’re not emotionally or financially invested, it’s hard for you to be empathetic to the rage you see in his eyes.

But, when he moves from clapping his hands together in a prayer-like stance to hitting the table and yelling clichés like, “C’MON BOYS, WE GOT THIS!” at the screen, you find it hilarious.

As you’re brainstorming captions for your potential mobile-upload gold, your iPhone camera catches his attention, and he does not look enthused.

You recoil and put down your phone. If (realistically, when) his team loses, he’ll be crotchety for the rest of the night, and you definitely don’t want to fuel the fire of his frustration.

10. Finally, the game has come to an end and it’s clear that your guy appreciates that you joined him, which makes you feel validated about how you spent your day.

Plus, now you have something to hold over his head when you want to watch the "Real Housewives of Anywhere," all week.

Photo Courtesy: Fanpop