Clyde’s Sports Bar or Getting Soused With Spouse In The Church Of The NFL

                For many of us, repetition is life.  Our weeks consist of getting up, going to work, coming home, having dinner, walking the dog or playing with the kids, having a few sacred moments to share our day of monotony with our significant other, and going to bed.  Wash, rinse, repeat.   Allow me to share with you the regimen of my life every Sunday between mid-September and early February.

                The day starts between 7 and 7:30 when Charger Gal and I are awakened by the affectionate licking of our dog, B Is Love.  (No, we’re not hippies; when I said everyone gets an alias, I meant everyone)  B Is Love has no concept of time; whether the previous night consists of a quiet dinner and bottle of wine that has us crashed out by 10:30 PM or a night out with friends that brings us staggering in at 1:30 AM, this canine alarm clock commences without fail.  She does not rest until mommy and daddy have joined the waking world.

                After such an abrupt beginning to the day, there is only one action to be taken:  COFFEE!!!  A quick run to the local Coffee Bean (Suck it Starbucks) and despite my unshaven, hat in head appearance, I’m feeling somewhat among the living.  This is a good thing because it’s time to get ready for some football!!!

                Without football, Charger Gal and I would have never come to be.  We met at a Yankee Doodle’s where I was rooting for my beloved Packers and Charger Gal…I think you can figure it out.  When we subscribed to DirecTV 6 years ago, a deep affection for the role football played in our courtship led us to subscribe to the DirecTV Sunday Ticket, a service where for a fee you have access to every football game every Sunday. (To those of you yelling DUH, chillax.  Not everyone’s life revolves around the pigskin.  And yes, that admonishment came from the guy who one sentence ago assumed everyone knew what Charger Gal was indicative of.  Why do you ask?)  And if you’re going to have every game at your disposal, you might as well utilize every TV in your home, right?

                First, we move the 32” TV in our bedroom onto the dining room table.   Charger Gal helps me with this task due to the combination of the TV being an early model HD (i.e., heavy), my relatively small hands, and the high probability that my clodhopper feet will trip on the necessary monolithic strand of cable and break a multitude of extremities.  Next is the move of our 26” office TV.  We finally bought an HD TV for this room last off season and my arms and back were eternally grateful.  Moving a 26” old school boob tube style TV was nothing short of a workout unto itself and I’m not exactly slight of strength.  To my masculinities’ gratitude, I am able to accomplish this task solo; I’ve only stripped the HDMI cable in the converter box once this year!  

 I begin to plug in the TV’s and converter boxes and Charger Gal enters the living room in her Sunday garb of choice: hat, jersey, sweats.  But it’s not necessarily what you think.  There is Charger gear to be sure, but there is also Saints gear.  Yes, it’s true; Charger Gal is a sports bigamist.  This stems from her devotion to Drew Brees.  She worships him in a child of the 50’s devotion to Mickey Mantle kind of way.  I explained to Charger Gal the reality of being a sports bigamist once and what it would mean regarding a lack of respect from other sports fans.  She resoundingly stated that I and those sports fans could go intercourse ourselves.

Charger Gal’s attire is always the signal for B Is Love to admonish us with a “This again?” look before retreating outside to roll in the grass and chase squirrels up trees.   I plop myself onto the couch and lounge in the glorious scene of 3 TV’s of football minus the obnoxious, drunk before 10 AM neanderthals that frequent Sports Bars on Sundays.  Clyde’s Sports Bar is now ready for business; all that’s left to determine is which game goes on which TV.    

Our living room TV is always reserved for one of our teams.  If some combo of Packers/Chargers or Packers/Saints play at the same time the team with the best record gets the prestigious spot.  If the records are the same, the better game on paper wins (If only world issues could be handled with such well established diplomacy). When Charger Gal’s Sophie’s Choice scenario of Chargers/Saints comes to pass, I sing Torn Between Two Lovers in my head and she inevitably chooses the Chargers (There’s a reason her alias isn’t Saints Gal).  The other TV’s are turned to the most intriguing games and kickoff commences.

Charger Gal now morphs into her football persona:  Coach Clyde.  Coach Clyde is a taskmaster with the unforgiving standards usually displayed by parents in a John Hughes film.  No offensive play of less than 5 yards is acceptable.  No defensive play that results in positive yardage for the other team is tolerated.  Any deviation from the above will result in a barrage of yelling and cursing that would make a sailor who stubbed his toe blush.  I watch this display and smile knowingly.  I used to be this way, but now I’m different.  I’ve grown.  I’ve matured.  I’ve… GET HIM!  GET BRETT FAVRE!  BREAK HIS EFFEN ANKLE, TEAR HIS BICEP THROUGH HIS SKIN, AND SHOVE HIS SEXTING PICS UP HIS ASS!!!  Sorry…like I said, I’ve moved past giving a sports event such importance in my life.

Halftime of the first games arrives and with it an important moment:   The first beer of the day.  The rate at which the perspiring beverage is consumed depends upon the performance of our teams.  A good half—the beverage is to be savored.  A lousy half—it is expediently gulped and replaced by another.  Once the seal is broken, the beer flows freely the remainder of the day.    It serves to heighten the joys or drench the sorrows of our teams’ results.  It also leads to an aspect of football that I have difficulty accepting.  When Charger Gal’s teams lose, she takes it hard.  It’s a helpless feeling to watch the one you love in a saddened state, knowing there is nothing you can do to lift their spirits.  But there is always one thing that alleviates the woes of the downtrodden:  A nap.  And when that nap can take place during games that you have paid hard earned money to watch, so much the better right?

Charger Gal’s drowsiness coincides with the return of B Is Love to the house.  B Is Love scans the TV’s and stops on the sight of her sleeping mommy.  She climbs up on the couch and places her head across from her mommy’s.  I take in the sight of the two most important women in my life engaged in peaceful slumber and smile.  This is what makes life worthwhile.

Well, that and a Hell of a lot football every Sunday between September and February.

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