I am incredibly apathetic toward sports. I cannot say I hate them, because I don't mind that they exist, but it is difficult to communicate how little I care about any -- and all -- sports.
I never played sports as a kid, except when my dad bribed me with monetary incentives to take golf lessons in elementary school. I danced and played piano as my extracurriculars, so at recess whenever everyone was playing soccer, I posted up on the monkey bars for fear of embarrassing myself and also for complete lack of interest in running up and down a field kicking a ball around.
I get that sports are a fun way to express your competitive side, and that being a fan of a team connects you to other fans of that team all over the country and world, and makes you feel like you are part of something bigger than yourself. It just never interested me or mattered enough to keep me focused.
So every year when the Super Bowl comes along, and everyone gets super heated and pumped to rally for their team, I prepare for trying to pretend to pay attention to what is potentially my least-favorite sport of all: football. This is how it generally goes down.
Oh, wow, that is some good queso. Who made this queso?
Everyone looks really focused. Are we on offense? Wait, who even is we? Who do my friends want to win, again? The ones in blue, I think. Oh, no, both teams are wearing blue.
"Can you hand me the chips, please? No, like the whole bowl."
Okay, it's been less than three real-time minutes and I think 40 plays have happened. Someone move toward one of the end zones. Either team. I don't even care. This is so boring.
Everyone's cheering.
"Woo! Touchdown!"
Oh my god, it's still the first quarter? When's Katy Perry coming on?
"So -- good game, huh?"
Everyone's yelling, but I don't know why because I haven't looked up from my phone for 10 minutes.
"What happened?"
Post-response. I have no idea what that even means.
"Oh, dang, that's rough. Well, I'm sure we'll come back from it."
"Is there any more guac? Oh, I'll go make some!"
Any excuse to escape to the kitchen for a few minutes.
Would anyone notice if I just stayed in here and ate it all myself?
"Here you go, guys!"
No one seems to care about this glorious dip I just slaved over. You ungrateful jerks. Something bad must have happened while I was gone.
Half time! YES!! Oh, hell, yeah. Get it, girl. God, why would anyone watch football if they could just watch Katy, Missy and Lenny perform together for four straight hours?
"Guys, remember how awesome Beyoncé was at halftime last year?"
They remember. Finally, something I have knowledge about. I don't even remember who played in the actual game last year.
Game's back on. This Patriots/Seahawks tension in my household is getting awkward. And the only people who are rooting for the Seahawks are just doing it because they refuse to root for the Patriots. I don't understand sports.
"Can't we just watch the Puppy Bowl instead?"
Okay. People look annoyed with me. I definitely need to stop talking.
This spinach and artichoke dip is unreal. I've eaten half the container on my own. Can't stop, won't stop.
What is with Buffalo chicken dip? Who invented that? What even is it? People like it, but it confuses me. Whatever, more of everything else for myself.
Everyone's pissed. What's happening? I was lost in a world of dips.
"Wow, what a bad play. Yeah, for sure." Smile and nod.
Fourth quarter. So close to being able to change the channel to Blacklist. I don't even care who wins. There are going to be unhappy people, either way.
Yay! It's over! Until next season, football. Thank God.
