The last time my family performed an intervention, it was all about this.
However, this time my own personal problem needs to be addressed:
The smartest thing my husband ever did was get me into Fantasy Football. As the only girl in a very active, athletic family, I have always appreciated some sports and followed some teams; that's not to say that I spend a lot of time on them, I just cheer for the Yankees, and more recently the Eagles and Phillies (my national league team). So, when my husband and I were married I didn't at all mind his Sunday ceremony of watching football and losing any semblance of the man I'd come to know: his reactions to Phillies' and Eagles' wins are really something I should put up on You Tube.
I would also join in the cheers, but when it comes to basketball, hockey, or anything college, I could not be less interested. The same is true for any football that is not the Eagles. What do I care if Seattle is playing Arizona? I don't know anyone on the teams, or any of their respective histories.
That is, I didn't care. Now, I find myself patting my back for picking up Fitzgerald and screaming at Hightower to get in the endzone because that's all he's good for.
What's happened to me???
I scoff when I hear Marvin Harrison's career is on its way out, I'll be the first to boast of my late season pick up of Thigpin, and I stand true to my belief that the Ravens are always a defensive sure-thing (even if my husband still yells, "Murderer!" every time Ray Lewis' mug is splashed across the screen).
But here's the true sign that my extreme interest has crossed over into obsession.
My parents live on a corner lot that is intersected by a street named "Mendelmore".
Why is that significant?
Every time I catch sight of the street sign, I can't help but wonder what the Steelers will come up with for their running game this Sunday.
I'm 32, a dad, and I am not a douchebag...
6 years ago