So I love American football. I love it so much that right now, I’m a little bit irked that I used the term “American Football.”

I use the term because I realize that outside the U.S., football means soccer. I really do understand that intellectually, though I struggle with it emotionally.

Of course, it is not unusual for women to like football in the South. After all, the South is the home of the S.E.C., i.e., the Southeastern Conference of college football.

…Apparently, according to the movie Silver Linings Playbook, it’s not unusual for women in Philadelphia to like football either, which is good to know…I guess…

The S.E.C is a big deal. Or so I’m told. Personally, I don’t watch college ball unless Texas or Texas Tech is playing. And that’s because I don’t watch football like a nice girl from the South watches football.


I watch it like a woman who grew up in Odessa, Texas watches football. And that’s a whole different feminine animal. Trust me.

West Texas is crazy about football.

That said, I don’t like the Dallas Cowboys. Never did.

I was a Houston Oiler fan.

So it’s only natural that I became a Tennessee Titan fan since they were the Oilers before they moved to Nashville and became the Titans even though, at the time, I had sworn off football altogether.

Sometimes you can love something too much, like my husband does.

Take what happened last week with the Titans for instance. We were playing the undefeated Pittsburg Steelers. The Titans were undefeated too, but no one was giving us a chance.

Sure enough, the first half was terrible. We were down 24-7 at halftime. We couldn’t keep the offense on the field–it didn’t matter if it was third and 20 or third and three–and we couldn’t get the defense off the field. It was brutal.

But the Titans charged back in the second half. We took advantage of the luck factor and made some big offensive plays. The much maligned defense made some stops, came up with some interceptions and forced a couple of field goals. With seconds remaining in regulation, the Titans kicked a field goal to go into overtime…and the kicker missed wide left.

Sure, our hopes were momentarily dashed. And, yeah, it hurt–falling on the jagged rocks of defeat always hurts. But it’s just football. And we’ve only lost one game.

Plus we fought almost all the way back. We captured big MO and forced him to play on our side. All in all I was pleased, even if we didn’t win the game.

But not my husband. He was super pissed at the kicker. For the rest of the day he sulked and didn’t want to watch the other games.

That’s no way to be. It’s childish.

Tomorrow I’m going to watch the Titans play Joe Burrow and the Cincinnati Bengals. I’m going to root my heart out for the Titans. I’m going to cheer every first down and plead for Joe Burrow to be sacked. Yes, hurt; not badly, and only temporarily, but shook up and discombobulated.

I’m going watch football all day.

And I’m going to pray.

And I’m going to wait.