The recent few weeks have been very exciting. There was so much on in the sporting world. If it isn’t some zippy F1, there were football championships, tennis matches and then the month-long cycling race through France. For a man, all that really means is lower-than-usual productivity. When sports strike, any and every male who has any ounce of testosterone circulating in his body will inadvertently drop his levels of world commitments social, prandial, and anything remotely physical.
You could mistake him for a zombie dilated pupils, dribbling mouth, no emotion save for an excited grunt or a disappointed groan now and then and that is just par for the course. When a game is on, everything else fades, becoming background noise. Women, therefore, must learn to watch sports with their men. It is what cements the foundation of any relationship. Leaving him alone to watch what he likes is one way to deal with it, but to actively participate is a more than sufficient way to pay him back for every Desperate Housewives, and Grey’s Anatomy episode that you made him sit through.
Having said that, here are a few cardinal rules just to ensure that you only enhance his experience and don’t mar it in any way. Don’t ask questions till advertisement breaks. Unless it’s a sport where nothing happens too fast, save your questions for when the man can listen and respond cognitively. Don’t mistake physical presence for mental availability; your guy is only sitting in your living room physically, but mentally he is somewhere else the stadium, the dirt track. To therefore expect him to be sociable when people arrive is absurd. Understand the aspect of sports that teleports your man to another dimension, and you will never misunderstand him again.
The greatest sacrifice will be when you relinquish your TV rights to us. By allowing us to watch the game and agreeing to wait for a rerun of your show, you are showing real commitment. So, all said and done, nothing shows unconditional love more than watching sports with your man. My girlfriend has recently been subjected to a good few stages of the Tour de France — from flag off till the Yellow Jersey for the stage is awarded.
Each stage lasted a good few hours and even upon being told that there are 21 more to go, she did well at stifling her disgust. In fact, she tried to pitch in with curious queries and bike statistics instead, all in a very acknowledgeable effort to show interest. Seeing me so glued, she has even offered me food and drinks. I swear, it’s moments like these that make me want to lay the world at her feet. So ladies, if you want the love of your man, heed my advice and learn from her.
The writer is a lover of wine, song and everything fine
