I've always been at odds with people who are rabid fans of sports (professional team mostly). I never understood why they cared so much about a "team" of people who are only playing with the team they're on because they get paid millions of dollars a year and any day 99.999% of them would switch teams in a heartbeat for more money. That and many other reasons I won't get into.

Over the last few months, my life has changed drastically. Now I don't count work, which is basically a thing I do to pay the bills, nor that I recently moved into an awesome (but too big for me alone) house, but that I have struggled desperately to make sense of the actions of my ex-boyfriend.

Now to tie it in with sports. I don't really care about professional sports. I do enjoy watching an occasional game, match, race, or whatever. <rant>But I never cared about following who, what, when, etc. I don't know all the teams of any one sport. I don't know the rules. I don't admire players who are on drugs, abuse their significant others, hurt animals, or cheat, steal, or even murder. Somehow, these people are still idolized by rabid fans, just because they are from their team or they happen to play well. People memorize stats, scores, and all sorts of arcane rules, but can't remember who was president or care why it's important that we have equality in the world. Society cares more as a whole about those people than the teachers, scientists, engineers, or even the people who built the TV they watch their sports on or serve their beer at the sports bar. My sixth grade science teacher deserved way more pay than she got for putting up with 20 little shits an hour than <insert way over paid sports "hero" here> does and who makes more sitting on the bench during the game than my teacher did in a year.</rant>

That being vented, my ex-boyfriend is a very passionate sports lover. Before we were dating, he had told me a few of things he was looking for in a relationship were someone who was around his age, who was attractive, and who was equally passionate about sports. Three strikes for me. I figured I never had a chance with him as I was 2x his age, don't consider myself particularly attractive, and couldn't give two shits about sports. That didn't stop me from falling in love with him.

Sure, I couldn't talk with him about how the Capitals were robbed of yet another season, how the Redskins were sucking yet again, or how the Nationals really should have won their series against the Cubs (but cubs are always better! Wait, this isn't InkBunny). But I could snuggle with him while he watched the latest game, could joke about how I promise not to watch the game so as to not jinx his team, and could console him when his team lost in spite of my actively trying not to check the score to see what mood he'll be in.

I had the pleasure of taking him to his first professional football game. Now I couldn't care less about professional football. I don't understand the rules, I don't know the players, and I don't understand the billions of dollars spent on tickets, stadiums, and players. But I do know my ex loves the Redskins, even though they have sucked as a team his whole life. Nothing made me happier though when I got the chance to take him to a game. We weren't dating yet; we were in another rocky patch in our relationship. However, I was determined to be the one to be with him at his first game. I scoured StubHub for tickets, I arranged a hotel in DC, I drove down and met him, and we went to the game. It was cold, it was rainy, it was absolutely miserable out. But I didn't care. I didn't have a clue what was going on (ok, I know the basics of most sports, even cricket, but I don't know all the intricacies). But I had the most fun I've ever had watching a football game. Why? Because he was there to explain things to me. He was there to give me energy when good things happened, and for me to console when they lost, yet again. We froze our asses off in the rain and sleet; we warmed up during half time in the indoor lounge, and went right back again to watch the second half when most of the stadium abandoned their "team" as it was obvious they were going to lose yet again.

After the game we took the DC Metro back to the hotel, desperately trying to warm up, when he took my hand in his while we sat in the train car. I practically fell over. My heart jumped. I almost cried. I looked at him in his gorgeous deep blue eyes, and connected with him. I didn't care if anyone saw us. The only thing that mattered at the moment was being with him.

I couldn't tell you who the Redskins played, I couldn't tell you who was the QB, or what the final score was. All I could tell you was I had fun because I was with him. I got to share the moment when he walked into the stadium for his first pro NFL game, I got to console him when they lost, and I got to curl up to him to warm him up after freezing our asses off. Nothing mattered but being with him. I could relate a bunch of other occasions like this, where all that mattered was being with him and sharing in his interests.

At the end of the day, though, it often seemed that I mattered less than his sports. If you asked me what he would choose if he were asked to choose between me and his sports, I would probably say he would choose sports. While all of it is "just a game" to me, to him, a win for his team would make his life more complete than all the years we were together. At least that's what it seems like, since he has an easier time talking about sports than talking to me about what I think really matters in life. Losing him hurt way more than any loss of any sports team (or all of them combined).

So while I couldn't care any less about any sport or team or player, the one person in the world that I care most about makes me care about them, even if I hate to admit it.

I know this journal was meant for only one person to read, but I needed to get this out of my head.