Jill and I have this same argument every year near Super Bowl Sunday. We both work hard to put together a kick-ass party. We shop for snacks, soft drinks, beer, and ice right along with all the paper goods. She decorates the place as if it were a high school dance in the gym. She has a real flair for it. Jill is still not a football fan, and neither is she a maid, waitress, or clean-up person after my buddies. "Get this straight, I don't fetch your beer just because you wave an empty bottle or snap your fingers. You got that, guys?" That's my Jill. The guys know that and respect it.
They're great guys, but never take off their shoes at the door and it takes too much elbow grease to get off the scuff marks they leave on the coffee table. They kick back during the slow parts, then jump up during the home team actions, leaving black streaks in the process. You'd think, grown men would have more consideration. Those with wives should have trained them better. The wives who came with, generally chatted in the kitchen the whole game. But hey, its my furniture too. Jill's right. We need to set more ground rules if we want to maintain our home and sanity this year.
So, this year, we decided to have a planning meeting between ourselves for this year's Super Bowl. We did it scientifically with a PRO -- CON worksheet. We'd make a statement about the proposed party and decide FOR or AGAINST for each item in contention. Of course, the results would establish the new ground rules for the guests at our party. Jill and I worked together and agreed to abide by the facts having argued out all our concerns beforehand. In theory, it sounded good. It only took us a little over an hour, but the results were undeniable.
We decided that: In the past few years, we'd been hosting the Super Bowl Party out of habit and because it kept a few of our single friends out of the sports bars, safe, and out of trouble. We always enjoyed their rowdy company, but things over the years have changed. Since all the patriot protest controversies began along with the shuffle in of new younger players and retirements of the great well-known older players, I haven't been interested in the game anymore. In my current thinking, pro-sports weren't pure sports anymore but rather entertainment involving sporting arenas and controlled by the huge betting franchises. They make it easier to bet with powerful new phone apps now. Billions of dollars are wagered across the board and very few are winners.
Face it, as a player, why not drop the ball on the 2-yard line, negating a possible touchdown and betraying your teammates, when a gym bag full of cash would be delivered to your doorstep within the next six hours? Of course, I have no proof of that, but it's a known fact that the suddenly rich, highly paid players don't handle big salary money very well. No matter how many millions they earn, they're always short and need a sudden cash bailout. I mean, who really needs an expensive beaver fur-lined sink in order to be cool? Whether this scenario plays out in real life or not, it's an easy scenario to write. Players have been publicly exposed before for betting on the game. Add to that, Jill's total disinterest for the game and our decision this year was unanimous. We're a 100%-100% couple. (We believe 50-50 is only an half effort.) There would be no Super Bowl party this year at our house. We left it to each other to notify our respective friends.
Let's face it, we're older now and our glory days are behind us. The afterglow of the big game college football weekends has worn off. The wild bonfires, the school pep song, the Greek parties and dances, and all that stuff were things belonging to memories of the past. We can't relive the past no matter how much we try to transfer those remembered feelings into the present. It was time to move on. Football was all hype, conjecture, and speculation for the network expert talking heads. It was antagonistic, emotional, macho athleticism on the field with a bunch of rules thrown in. It was clear to us, that the thrill was gone.
In another meeting between Jill and me, we took time to discuss our future options to the utilization of the huge void of time that the party formerly consumed. It wasn't just that day of, but the planning and preparation times included. We had a lot of extra free time, now. What do we do with all of that?
I suggested we just do nothing. It's our day. Let's just call it that. "Our Own Super Day." Share the void. Jokingly, I suggested, "We could just stay in bed and have sex all day. We could take naps together, for a change -- eat when we're hungry, not because it's time. We could take warm showers into the wee hours of the morning if we wanted.
Jill smiled, "Saay, that sounds like a very reasonable suggestion. We're so busy with our careers, we have busy schedules so we hardly have time for each other. We're always with each other, but we're not together with each other. Case in point, you haven't noticed my new tattoo yet. Have you?"
"You got a tattoo?? When did this happen??"
"It hasn't. I was checking your hearing. I don't have a tattoo, but you should know that. Speaking of which, do you have one?"
"No. Why would I do that? No, I don't."
"It's just an example to indicate that even though we're together all the time, involved with each other, we hardly ... ARE together. Sleep just comes too quickly when our heads hit the pillows. We've been married four years. Has our love faded or changed to the extent that we're just friends and not lovers anymore?" She said it with small tears in her eyes.
"No, Jill-honey. We're just as solid as we ever were. There's nothing wrong with us."
"Well, why don't you touch me anymore? A peck on the cheek in the morning and at night isn't the same. I need more. I think you do too. You aren't having an affair, are you?"
"NOoooo. Where is all this coming from?"
"Nowhere, I guess." She walked over to me and threw her left arm around my neck and kissed me. Her right hand fumbled at the zipper in my jeans."
