The Mind of the Married Fan

This is my favorite time of the year. The Final Four. The Players Championship at Sawgrass. The Frozen Four. The Red Sox at the Yankees. The Masters. The Yankees at the Red Sox. The start of my golf league. The Boston Marathon. The NFL Draft. The NBA playoffs. April is an all-you-can-eat sports buffet, and I like to pile my plate high, shoving the Jell-O in with both hands like Bluto in the Faber College cafeteria.

It’s a great time to be a fan, but a tough time to be a husband. April is harder on a sports fan’s marriage than a video of his bachelor party. I’ve always said that what finally breaks up my marriage won’t be cheating or drinking or money problems; it’ll be current events. Every year when the NCAA tournament is on opposite the World Figure Skating Championships, it causes more problems between my wife and me than a holiday weekend at my in-laws.

Last month a guy was convicted of paying an undercover cop to murder his wife. On the news that night, they interviewed her and she said she isn’t mad at him. I told my wife, “See? He tried to have her whacked and she forgives him. You still hold against me that I changed the channel during the Ladies’ Free Skate.” The courts say I can have total control over her feeding tube, but I can’t control the cable clicker.

When two people tell the world they’re getting married, everyone has advice. Whether it’s his friends (“Don’t do it”), or hers (“If he gives you the ring on a holiday, then it’s a gift and you don’t have to give it back when you break up”), Dr. Phil or Jenna Jameson, everyone’s an expert. In our case, the Catholic Church made us go to marriage-prep classes with a priest. That was real helpful. We sat there for four hours getting lectured on finances and sexuality from a guy with a fixed income, free housing, and a vow of celibacy. My proudest moment came when he was making a point about how sex is a blessing. He said that he sleeps under the same crucifix that was over his parent’s bed on the night he was conceived. So I said to my wife, “I guess my parents owe me a set of fuzzy dice.” (Thank you, don’t forget to tip your waitress.)

The point is that no one ever has any practical advice, anything that you can actually use. The best you can hope for is to remain some semblance of the man you’ve always been: a sports fan. After eleven years on the job, as a public service, I offer to all prospective grooms the following tips to reconcile your life as a sports fan to your life as a married man.

1. Marry a fan. You don’t need to find someone who can spout Bill James’ “win-share” stats verbatim or a rotisserie geek with breasts. But some rudimentary knowledge from her is helpful. Just her being able to recite important, basic facts like “Barry Bonds is a punk” or “You can hear Tedy Bruschi’s approach from the clanging of his iron testicles” will suffice.

This should be established early on, before you decide to jump the broom. My wife comes from a family of fans. This made it easy later on when we woke up in the hotel the morning after the wedding and I turned on the Ryder Cup matches (The Belfry, 1993).

2. Compromise. The fact is that once you’re married, your life changes. Back in the day, I once had a marathon day of NFL football, beer and poker that started at noon and ended at 4AM. I’ve won a friend’s entire paycheck at the card table and lost my own. I’ve come back from a weekend of golfing and strip joints on the Cape with an empty gas tank and five bucks to my name.

That nonsense had to end. When you’re responsible to someone else, you become…responsible. Maybe I got mature. Or domesticated. Or whipped. But if you want to still live like you did when you were 21, stay single. Live in Mom’s house in your old room with the Chewbacca lamp and the Buffy poster.

3. Don’t compromise. At least not too much. You still have to be yourself. One of my best friends is, was and always will be a degenerate gambler, and his wife has spent most of the last 15 years trying to get him to quit. Gambling is a part of who he is; asking him to stop is like asking a Frenchman not to stink.

4. Take some interest in her stuff. This is the reverse of Tip 1. My wife likes figure skating and women’s tennis (or as I like to call them, the “nice ass” sports). I’ve watched them with her and lived to talk about it. Just through osmosis I know more about these sports than any man alive. In fact, I’m on record as saying that Rudy Galindo’s screamingly effeminate “Village People Medley” has brought more joy and laughter into my life than Adam Vinatieri‘s foot.

5. But not too much interest. Never, ever watch one of those reality shows where someone is looking for someone else to marry. Remember, you‘re an American Man, and we used to make steel in this country, mister.

6. Get out of the house, and make sure she does too. If you If you’ve got a regular night of basketball, or a bowling league or Patriots season tickets, don’t give them up. If you do, start praying for death.

7. Be decisive. When I ordered the NFL Network from Comcast, they told me I’d lose the Oxygen channel. If I had hesitated for a second, or asked my wife first, I could never again call myself a man.

8. Don’t cheat. Women are complicated. For every one you add, the complications increase exponentially (see Pat O’Brien). One wife is actually too many; ¾ of one would be perfect.

Maybe there’s no Johnny Damon in me. If a swimsuit model came up and told me she’d do anything I want and no one will ever find out, I tell her, “First, I’m gonna go to the den, see…then I’m going to open a beer and lie on the couch…and when I do, I want you to go mow the lawn while I watch the Red Sox.” Now that would be hot.

9. Communicate. Just kidding; no one‘s ever done it, I don‘t, and neither will you.

10. Just make sure you own two TVs.