I get that sports are important to some guys, but I’m not sure if I’m OK with how my boyfriend acts when I’m around and his football team is playing. It as if as soon as the first whistle is blown, I’m invisible. WTF?
Our whole day revolves around the football game.
When his team is playing, we have to arrange our whole day around the game. We can’t be running behind schedule in any way, otherwise, it’s like the world is going to end. If we’ve been out for brunch before a noon kickoff, for example, the server will get a mouthful if they’re being slow with the check. Similarly, if we’re grabbing snacks from the grocery store early afternoon before a mid-afternoon game and there’s a line, he’ll throw a hissy fit in the middle of the checkout aisle. For my boyfriend, football is life.
I just get ignored throughout the whole game.
For three hours, or however long that particular game lasts, I might as well not be there. Even if I’m not physically with him for whatever reason, I’m kidding myself if I think I’m going to hear from him for those three hours that his team is playing. While his team’s on the field, no one else exists.
I’m expected to sit down and shut up.
When I am physically with him, if I’m moving around, making too much noise, or being a distraction in any way, I get into trouble. He’s like, “Babe, can you not blend yourself a juice right now?” or, “Babe, can you go into the other room if you want to watch your best friend Susan’s Snapchat from when she did the Walk of Shame this morning?” Sometimes it feels like just breathing irritates him while he’s trying to watch the game.
My questions go unanswered.
There’s no point in me even attempting to ask him any questions during the game because I know they’ll just be ignored. Even if they’re questions in his best interest like whether he wants a beer or what time I should start cooking dinner, it doesn’t matter. I know I shouldn’t bother doing it, but I always accidentally end up asking him a question without realizing. Cue the death stare.
He only speaks to request snacks or refreshments.
The only time he’ll actually talk to me while his team is playing is to request some kind of food to munch on. Then it ends up feeling like a bit of a business transaction. He tells me what to hand him, whether it’s some kind of candy or chips, says thanks, and then shuts up again. You’re welcome, dude.
I’m not allowed to distract him but it’s alright for him to go on his phone intermittently.
Double standard, much? My boyfriend won’t give me attention when the game is on but it’s OK for him to be messaging the guys every 30 seconds on WhatsApp. Sure, it’s usually about the game, but that’s not the point. I’m a real-life version of a loved one, right there in the flesh, and supposedly one of his top priorities… and yet he won’t physically speak to me.
If he misses any of the game for whatever reason, I hear about it.
Even if I’m unexpectedly in the shower when the pizza delivery guy arrives and he has to break off from the game to answer the door for a minute, he’ll have a little moan and then he’ll resume his stony silence. It’s all just so serious!
He gets cranky if his team is losing.
Sure, I can understand that he feels a little downhearted if his team is losing, but does he have to take it out on me? The quality of our relationship that day shouldn’t be based on whether his football team wins or loses. It doesn’t seem right, but it happens every single time.
He picks me back up temporarily when it’s halftime.
When it’s halftime, my boyfriend seems to have some sort of personality transplant. He acts like he hasn’t been ignoring me the entire game so far and briefly gives me some attention, but his mood will depend on whether his team’s losing or not. Then, as soon as halftime is over, he goes back to ignoring me. Fun.
The mood of the rest of the day rides on whether his team has won or lost.
When we reach the end of the football game, if his team won, it’s hello, happiness and perhaps even some passionate victory sex. If his team lost, I have to deal with extra grumpiness on his end. He won’t want to do anything, he’ll suddenly decide he hates life, and he’ll complain that nothing is going right. In the worst cases, he might even shed a little tear or two and I’m left to pick up the pieces. Then the rollercoaster ride will end for the time being—until the next game, that is, and we have to do it all again. Sigh. Ain’t love grand?
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