My Husband - The Sports Freak
It's 10:03 pm right now. I'm sitting on my couch, in semi-darkness with my lap top sitting appropriately on my lap. Shaun is downstairs, in the basement/playroom watching the Celtics. I am afraid. I am afraid of him. The Celtics could win the NBA Championship tonight. I believe it's been something like 22-years since the last one. Names like Byrd and McEnroe come to mind. Wait..maybe it's McHale? Oh well...my feeble mind digresses....
"YEAH!! BAM!! BOOM!! THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT!!!"
Back to why I am afraid.
Shaun gets CRAZY when his beloved New England sports teams are in positions to win Championships. Crazy. CAH. RAY. ZEE. I lived through some great sports highs with him: three Super Bowl wins and two Red Sox World Series championships, and I've lived through some lows with him: the 2003 Let's-Leave-Pedro-In heartbreak and the recent, and still painful, Super Bowl loss after an undefeated season.
"WAA HAA OOOO!! YOUR KIDDING ME??!!!"
And never mind watching these types of games with him. He paces, he sweats, he mumbles, he drools, if they start to lose he switches positions/changes his hat/makes me change positions or my hat - you get the drift. His anxiety stresses me out - I bite my fingernails down to the bone, my heart races, I get hot flashes and I try to leave but can't lest I break the "sports mojo." It's hard being married to the man. I've tried to calmly tell him it's only a game only to be told, "Wendy, I've watched the (blank New England sports team) since I was in my Underoos. I've watched every (blank New England sports team) game, even when they sucked and they couldn't give away tickets. It's more than 'just a game' to me." Fair enough.
"OH GET OUT OF HERE - GET THAT SH*T OUT HERE. BOOM!" (The BOOM was followed by a quick hand clap). "SCORE ONE MORE. KG, GET THAT B*TCH! WOOOOOO!
He just came upstairs and told me that the Celts are up by 23 (or was it 24?) - that was followed by some serious pacing followed by his questioning of what he was going to do with himself for the next 15 minutes. I politely gave him a, "That's good dear" without really looking up from my computer. I could see the pacing in my peripheral vision. At least he's consistent. I should probably sew some swiffers onto the bottom of his socks. Might as well clean my floors while he paces.
So I send out this prayer before signing off:
God, if you are up there in that big blue sky, could you please let the Celtics win tonight? I can't live through a game 7, and neither can my husband.
*These are the screams I heard from him while I was typing this...
And yes, that is Shaun in a cupcake.








