Lumpy Butt and Football Crack

So it’s Tuesday night and normally I’d have taken back control of the big TV in our den, IF the big TV in our den wasn’t still broken, awaiting parts for yet another week. You see, on Sundays and Mondays, control is given over to The Man and the myriad of NFL channels showing games on those days.

I like watching the occasional game, especially if it’s a close one and the little guys on the field are really digging in, fighting for every inch. Of course, I don’t always mind the regular games that aren’t that exciting either….it just takes a little extra imagination. For instance, sometimes I find out which team The Man is pulling for and then I’ll loudly pull for the opposing team the whole game. If it’s a really boring game, we’ll put a wager on the outcome. If my team wins, HE gets morning bus stop duty for the next week so I can sleep in.

On other occasions, I start giving the players my own little nicknames – like “Lumpy Butt” and “Tattoo Guy.” Drives The Man nuts. But on those days when it’s a good game, I can just lie on my husband’s comfy lap and cheer along with him – at least until a big play causes him to involuntarily leap into the air with a savage cry, dumping me on the floor in the process.

But this year, that won’t happen. You see, this year, The Man finally made the perilous leap into Fantasy Football. It’s kind of like Football Crack. (As in the illicit drug, not what you see when that really big “Balloon Butt” guy bends over the scrimmage line.) Yeah….it’s a whole new ball game.

Now, instead of being content to simply watch a game and yell at the TV, he sits, remote in hand and laptop computer on his lap alternately flipping channels between three or four different games and following the points on the I-don’t-know-how-many Fantasy teams he’s created as he duels with various of his buddies to out-play them. Or something like that.

Yeah…it’s bad.

And I WOULD make more fun of him as he watches, gripping the arms of his chair, grabbing the laptop to jump up and cheer or drumming his legs uselessly against the recliner’s raised footrest to urge a running back to new speed. But then I remember…

He usually doesn’t say a word the rest of the week when *I’m* jumping out of my chair and shouting about how Gabby’s just not as funny playing a pregnant mother of two girls, or when I’m jubilant that Christina finally has a love interest and we can listen to somebody else complain about their love life besides Meredith. He doesn’t even mind when I’m comparing the pros and cons of McDreamy, McSteamy and McArmy-Guy. Oh, and don’t even get me started on what the heck they’re thinking when they try to woo Sylar to the good Heroes’ side. And Clare just needs to stop whining, too. Jeez, you’re freakin’ indestructible…waah waah waah.

Ummm…what was I talking about again? Oh yeah. Fantasty Football. So anyway, if you’re ever wondering what would be a good day to come hang out with me when I’ve got nothing else goin’ on, Sunday and Monday are a good bet. Just call ahead….I’ll save you some wine.