Congrats to the Saints! I was cheering the whole game.
For the Colts.
Coleman and I stayed home and watched the game by ourselves. I could tell he was a little bummed because he wasn’t watching the game with guys who he could have conversations with, like discussing plays and routes and… stuff. And–I’m not sure why–he seemed to be getting annoyed at my attempts at football conversation.
“His wife is so pretty! Imagine, being the wife of an NFL quarterback.”
“Why are their uniforms that shade?”
“It’s confusing that Peyton Manning is on one team and Sean Payton is on the other team. Which one are they talking about?”
“The Colts players have the best last names! Bullitt, Saturday, Session, Garcon–is he French? Pierre Garcon?”
Once I came to that realization, I decided to be more footbally and try to say things that Coleman would want to talk about.
(Let me say, I think I do know more about football than the average American woman. I like to watch it, I know who some of the players are, I understand the basics of how the game works. But I don’t necessarily know the correct terms for things.)
(So, I just listened to things that Coleman was shouting at the tv, then remembered the phrases and repeated them a few minutes later when it looked like a similar thing had happened.)
“Run it up the middle!”
“Strip the ball!”
I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure, that I totally made the game more enjoyable for Coleman.
Except he’s already talking about making plans for a Superbowl party next year…