The Good (Sports) Wife

Late Night in the Phog (the first practice of the season)

I am becoming less and less of a sports fan in my older age, a fact my spouse bemoans because I actually know quite a bit about sports...for a girl. But, there's just so much of it, you know? I'd rather do just about anything but sit through a 3-1/2 hour game on a hard seat. Still, in appreciation for the way he indulged my cultural desires (art galleries, museums, shopping) on our recent vacation, I agreed to attend not one, but two, athletic events this weekend. The first was, technically, a basketball scrimmage. But, in this town, where college basketball is a communal addiction for which no 12-step program dare be invented, it was a sold-out, epic event. People had been waiting in line, literally, for two days to attend the glorified practice. Fortunately, our friends had reserved seats and, since their kids dropped out at the last minute, they invited us to join them. Turns out, the tickets were hotter than expected since the temperature inside the Fieldhouse was, at least, 90 degrees. I'm embarrassed to say, I left early (the prelim stuff took hours; I was drenched in sweat) and missed a sneak peak at the predicted #1 NBA draft pick next year...but stayed long enough to mark "Late Night" off my bucket list.

Our makeshift fans, compliments of my resourceful husband.

A cold front moved through overnight leaving it nice and cool for my return to Memorial Stadium after a 5-year hiatus.  (The hubs lost his season ticket buddy this year, so I agreed to accompany him to all home games which, in hindsight, may have been a regrettable over-reaction.) We walked to the stadium and enjoyed one quarter of great playing by the home team until they fell apart (as the home team is wont to do) in the last three quarters.

Good seats, anyway.

As we trudged home, disgusted - once again - with the flailing football program but eternally optimistic about basketball, I was reminded how good it feels to compromise in a relationship... once in a while. When the temperature dips below 30, I make no guarantees of making it to the fourth quarter.