Or: how to date a man who loves a game more than you.
Let me start here: I don’t care about football. Not college, not the NFL, not whatever random Thursday night game is on. I don’t care who wins, I don’t care about the score, I don’t care if your quarterback sprained something. And yet, from September through February, I am somehow in a committed relationship with a man and also with a sport I never asked to meet.
If you know, you know: football season doesn’t feel like four months, it feels like a hostage situation. Saturdays? Gone to college ball. Sundays? Completely hijacked by the NFL. And just when you think you have a free evening together, surprise — there’s a Thursday night game, too. I went from having a boyfriend to having a roommate who occasionally high-fives the television.
The Weekend That Isn’t Yours Anymore
Remember summer, when weekends meant plans? Brunches, movies, trips, lazy afternoons actually talking? Cute, wasn’t it? Now it’s hours of pregame coverage, actual games, post-game breakdowns, and his fantasy league recap with people you’ve never met.
Football doesn’t just “take a few hours.” It eats the entire weekend and spits out your relationship like a sunflower seed shell. The man who once planned date nights is now planning snack rotations and talking about a wide receiver like he personally raised him from birth.
“I didn’t lose him to another girl. I lost him to RedZone.”
Being Ignored in HD
There is a very specific feeling of sitting next to someone you love and realizing you could fake a medical emergency and he wouldn’t notice until halftime. The TV has his whole soul, and you? You get the occasional arm squeeze, like, “See, babe, I included you.”
I’ve tried to ask questions. “What’s happening?” earns me a sigh and an explanation that somehow takes longer than the game itself. I’ve also tried silence — which works, until he forgets I’m even in the room. Either way, I lose.
The Jealousy You Don’t Admit Out Loud
It’s not another woman. It’s the sport. The way his face lights up when his team scores — when was the last time he looked at me like that? The way he remembers every stat but somehow forgets to text me back when he’s “busy.” I can’t compete with a ball. A ball always wins.
And no, I don’t want to “pick a team” or “learn the rules.” I’m not auditioning to be his football buddy. I already have a role in this relationship: girlfriend. I just want him to remember that.
The Emotional Rollercoaster (That You Never Bought a Ticket For)
Football season turns your boyfriend into three different men:
- The Optimist. Friday night he’s giddy, full of hope, promising this is “the year.”
- The Zombie. Saturday/Sunday he’s glued to the TV, half-communicating in grunts.
- The Mourner. Monday morning, depressed because his team blew it again.
And me? I’m just trying to have a normal conversation without it being interrupted by a commercial jingle or a referee review.
“Dating during football season is like being in a throuple with ESPN.”
What We Really Want
We don’t want to take football away. (Okay, fine, maybe a little.) But mostly, we just want balance. Time that isn’t scheduled around kickoff. A date night that doesn’t involve a sports bar. Eye contact that isn’t directed toward a screen.
Here’s what men don’t get: it’s not about hating football. It’s about hating the way football makes us invisible.
The Playbook (That Isn’t About Plays)
So here’s how I survive:
- Make other plans. If he’s gone all weekend mentally, I’ll go physically. Girls’ brunch, solo shopping, literally anything that reminds me I have a life.
- Claim one night. If Saturday and Sunday are spoken for, then Friday is mine. No excuses.
- Call it out. “You spent five hours watching men in tights, you can spend one hour listening to me.”
- Don’t pretend. Stop faking interest to make him happy. You don’t care, and that’s okay.
Final Whistle
Football season is temporary. You are not. Remember that when you’re three hours into a game you didn’t agree to watch. He can love his team, fine. But he should love his girlfriend more.
And if he can’t prove it? Then maybe it’s time to trade him.
— NotYourEx