I am a sports nut. I love sports—all sports, mainly football but really if there is a sport on television I want to watch it. I like to play sports too, but right now I’m talking about the sport of watching sports. To be honest though I’m sure I don’t measure up to a lot of fanatics out there. Besides professional and college football, I don’t watch other sports year round. That is to say, I am somewhat of a playoff whore. I can’t really get in to a baseball game in the middle of the season, but when the World Series comes around, move over. Between the NHL and NBA playoffs I’m glued to the tube most nights during the week.

So it came as a bit of surprise to me and everyone who knew me that I would choose to spend my life with someone who was not a sports fan. Ouch—that hurts to say. When I met Rick in college in our junior year, he had never even been to a football game. Ugh. We went to Auburn University in Alabama and if you know anything about SEC football then you know it is a criminal offense to not attend the Auburn football games—or at least tailgate and pretend to be interested.

Over the years Rick has learned to love Auburn football—I’m sure it had nothing to do with realizing how easy it was to sneak the Ziploc bag of bourbon taped to your leg in to the game, but rather the sheer joy of the sport. He even watches Denver Bronco games with me on occasion and for the last year or so has coached our son’s flag football team. I’ve never been so proud.

And yet, the sport of watching sports is not Rick’s first choice. No, that would be movies, the sci fi channel or my personal favorite….the food network. Yes, the food network.

OK Ok, so it’s only fair to point out that Rick is a phenomenal cook—I mean people everywhere talk about his talent and beg and plead to eat his food. Neighbors begin hanging around outside when they smell the smoker in hopes that he’ll share whatever delectable treasure is grilling under his immaculate supervision. I am in awe of his talent. And not just because my cooking capabilities are limited to boiling noodles or the microwave oven, but because he is truly gifted.

So with all that in mind we have always joked that we are a bit backwards. He is in the kitchen and I’m on the couch asking him to bring me a beer so I don’t miss the next play. When my children were younger I would set them next to me in their bouncy seat or boppy and teach them about football. When they were a little older I’d explain how excited I was about a particular game that was coming on and how much it meant to the season. I worked hard to share my excitement for the love of the game—just about any game. I mean this was a strong force in my family—a tradition passed from my grandfathers to my mother—yes mother—to my brother and me.

And so it is with great pain in my heavy heavy heart that I have to report that on a gloomy Saturday in the middle of college football season, I came bouncing down the stairs ready for the game to find my husband and 2 children huddled up on the couch watching….the food network.

“It’s ok,” I thought, “the game hasn’t started yet. Once I tell them about the game, they’ll be as excited as me.”

And yet they weren’t. They were in fact very upset at the thought that I might turn off their beloved Alton Brown—scientific, cooking guru for the likes of Ronnie Brown—kick-ass rocking running back for the Auburn Tigers.

I had failed them. Oh sure I was happy that they enjoyed cooking and was warmed when I saw the three of them together in the kitchen whipping up some new and exciting dish. But come on! What the hell?
The other day I was telling family members about how I sit alone on the couch cheering on my favorite teams while they all either cook or go to another room to watch cooking shows. “M” looks at me and says, “You should watch the food network Mom. You just might learn something.”
Learn something?? Was she kidding me? Hadn’t I passed on my knowledge of football and hockey and basketball and baseball? Hadn’t I taught them the nuances of the “couch-wave?” Hadn’t I instilled within them the edge of your seat emotion that a last second field goal can contain?

I had….I knew I had. And yet in this sad little scenario, Alton Brown had just tackled Ronnie Brown to the ground—stopping his drive for a touchdown, and continuing my journey on the couch alone.

Well at least I have damned tasty food to cushion the pain.