It’s late summer and the Dog Days of August are settling over the entire country.
Sweltering heat, sticky afternoons and soon, summer is going to be officially over.
This can only mean one thing….
It’s time for some football.
Like most men in this country, I am a huge football fan. And by huge I mean I tend to watch 2-3 college games on Saturdays, 4-5 games on Sundays, and always cap it off with the Monday Night Football Game. That’s somewhere in the neighborhood of 24 hours of football per week. And that’s not even taking into account the occasional Thursday Night Game.
And still when that last snap happens on Monday night, I am immediately pining for next week’s slate of games.
For men everywhere, this is a routine we dream about once the Super Bowl ends and we’re forced to tune into other less manly sports. August to early February is like heaven on earth to us. It’s a time we feel our lives are perfect and we are floating somewhere in blissful paradise.
But for many women this 6 month season is nothing short of personal hell.
Instead of spending Saturdays and Sundays watching our wives, girlfriends, lovers, or “roommates” prance around in their nighties, we’re instead glued to the TV checking out over-sized, muscular dudes in tight pants, cleats and shirts with helmets on (is it me or does that sound a little…peculiar). During the season we spend more time at the bar with the fellas. Raise our blood pressures by about 30 points and generally consume enough beer to make Chuck Sheen look like a choir boy.
This behavior often leaves you, our women, feeling disconnected, lonely, left out, second fiddle, pissed off and plain ole mad.
There’s one thing to understand with all of this. Football isn’t going anywhere and as such we probably aren’t going to change much either, because even when we’re old and blind, we’ll find an AM station somewhere that’s broadcasting a game.
But ladies I’m going to let you in on something. It is true. We do love football.
But we LOVE SEX even more. I’m sure you already knew this. If you’ve ever been in a relationship with a man that lasted longer than 24 hours and the horny little devil wouldn’t let you sleep, you can vouch for this.
And it is in this one little fact that the key to maintaining your relevancy and importance during the annual Saturday thru Monday ritual lies.
There are four 15 minute quarters in football. Between each quarter there is about a 3 minute break. Between the 1st and 2nd quarter is halftime. It generally lasts for about 20 minutes or so.
Stay with me. I’m getting to my point the long way.
No imagine this: He’s watching the game alone in his “man-cave,” beer in hand chips nearby, volume turned up super high. The second quarter comes to an end and you walk in wearing absolutely nothing. Looking beautiful. Feeling sexy with a naughty smile that says, “Look what I’ve got.”
You have just fulfilled his biggest fantasy ever.
Every man thinks about it. Man to himself: “Do you know what would make this game even better? Sex. Right here right now.”
Halftime Sex ranks up there with the Mile High Club and the English Teacher in terms of Fantasies. No man in his right mind is ever going to tell you to put your clothes back on, the game’s on. If he does, send me an email. Let me know where the guy lives and we’ll send the cops over to revoke his male card immediately and beat him down like he stole something.
Think about it. This could become your weekly M.O. The halftime show is on, but in your house the real halftime show is on. Once you get your system down, you could even pick and choose the games you’d like to make an “appearance” during.
Remember you’ve got 20 minutes.
Eventually you might even start watching the games in the buff together. I have done this many times and it is by far one of the most liberating experiences you will ever have. Soon he won’t want to go anywhere when the games are on. His single buddies will end up at the bar wondering, “Where’s Al? Woman must really got him wrapped around her finger.” And the truth is they’re right. And Al couldn’t be happier to be wrapped around said finger.
What if there are other people around you ask? This can go several ways. But for the sake of argument let’s assume, you and Al (I don’t know why I chose that name. Just kind of came out), aren’t swingers. Though his buddies might like you prancing through in your birthday suit, Al probably not so much. Easy fix. You shoot him a text. Let him know you know it’s halftime and you wanted to give him something to keep with him for the second half. You know your guy. You know how to push his buttons. Whatever you think you should say, say it. Or you can always call him from another room.
He comes to the bedroom and once again, it’s on. His buddies will tease him when he comes back about being gone so long and getting reprimanded and Al won’t give a damn.
Because they may be playing Fantasy Football, but Al is living Fantasy Football.