I have recently entered into a partnership with an unforeseen ally. My new comrade has enabled me to maintain the best relationship I have ever had, all the while allowing me to keep my sanity and preserve my happiness. Without my new friend, the bond between me and my beloved would not be as strong as it is today.
Thank you, television, for giving me and countless others of my brethren the opportunity to raise our glasses high and proclaim, “Yes! I am ready for some football!” Sundays can now be enjoyed at the bar with 50 of your closest friends, the way God intended. Going out on Monday evenings to the local tavern to enjoy the game no longer means getting that death glare from the Mrs. You know the look; the eyes are lowered, the mouth is clenched, thunder booms in the background. The look that lets a man know his next sleeping arrangement is an uncomfortable couch with an oh-so-small fluffy pillow.
Those days have come and gone, however. Television in the 21st Century gives me an advantage that my father never experienced at my age. Never will I have to fear Sunday afternoon visits to soon-to-be in-laws, or going for a walk in the park, or the always feared trip to the antique shops. No, Sundays were made for football. Thanks to my new wingman, every Sunday can be enjoyed to its fullest, without fear of “the look” or having to eat Fruity Pebbles for dinner the next three days.
While I’m out watching 12 hours of football, my sugarplum enjoys a myriad of programs throughout the day. VH1 has about 43829080 reality shows that she loves to immerse herself in. Lifetime can always be counted on to have one of those emotional thrillers the ladies never tire of. Then there is the always popular Food Network. My sweetums can’t get enough of Rachael Ray, Paula Deen, Bobby Flay, and those shows where people have competitions to see who the better chef is. The Food Network is a personal favorite of mine as well, because not only does my darling love to watch it, but one never knows when she might grab an idea or two from whichever show she is watching. For this to be beneficial for you, having a significant other who is a great cook is necessary. Otherwise, things can become rather ugly in a hurry.
Then the evening comes, which means Sunday Night Football for me and the wife’s favorite night of television. ABC starts out with Extreme Makeover: Home Edition and follows with Desperate Housewives, two shows that almost every female in my life cannot miss. If the woman in your life does not favor these shows, hope is not yet lost. The CW counters with the hit show 7th Heaven at 8pm. From there one can hop on over to cable, as TBS airs reruns of Friends at 9pm. The next hour fails to disappoint, as ABC delivers Brothers and Sisters, a new show that is already a hit in my household. The CW comes through yet again with reruns of Will and Grace followed by Sex and the City, which is crucial if the game runs late (or the bar has specials).
Monday nights are made Mrs. Football Fanatic friendly thanks to those beautiful geniuses at ABC, who save the day again. Wife Swap begins the evening, followed by The Bachelor, one of the best shows out there (according to the women closest to me). I’ve never watched either show, but from what I’ve been told these two shows consist of either switching wives with somebody else or one man dating over a dozen women at one time. I’ll say it again; execs over at ABC are brilliant.
Oh, and let us not forget those pesky Thursday night games towards the end of the season. If there is one thing that should have been learned by this point, it is that television never fails us as a species. Thursday nights are no exception. Smallville, Grey’s Anatomy, and Six Degrees entertain my babycakes and allow me to sneak off for yet another night of pigskin. While she’s on the couch with a tissue watching an intern pull the plug on some patient in a horribly overdramatic way, I’m out with the boys again wondering why I didn’t just get satellite instead of spending three bucks on draughts for the third time in a week.
At least I know I can throw away my money without having to fear “the look” upon my return. Television has made it acceptable to adorn myself in an overpriced authentic jersey, join complete strangers in yelling at numerous television sets, and drown my sorrows after a tough loss (I’m a Cleveland fan). So the next time your better half suggests hitting up that antique shop on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, just do what I do. Chuckle, hand her the remote and the local listings, put your foot down and let her know the way things work from now on. “Sunday’s are not for antiquing!”
“That’s what Saturdays are for, hunny. Love you.”
