Confession: Football didn’t exist to me until Nuv. (See also: graphic novels, tea and unbearably sexy jaw lines.) I was an NBA girl back in the mid 90s, and then had lost my way with pro sports. (See also: jobs, boys and hairstyles.) Our first couple NFL seasons together I used the time he sat glued to the TV to do unadulterated ME stuff (perez hilton.com for hours, reading US Weekly or putting on nail polish poorly) and then I graduated to being the ‘Ultimate Football Girlfriend’ by making yummy food for him and presenting it with a flourish and roll of paper towel. One Sunday I decided to see what all the fuss (see: cigarettes being smoked furiously at half time, swearing and/or screaming) was about. Could I actually attempt to follow this game I had never given one shit about, and maintain that interest with my flea-sized attention span? Verdict – YES I COULD. First step, you get a team. Based on this commercial alone, I chose the Steelers. Next step, you get a jersey for Christmas. Final step, you write about it for a website.
Even better than seeing my newly minted team, The Steelers, win Super Bowl XLIII, was watching the big game the year before. The undefeated Patriots having a fairy-tale season, were up against the underdog Giants, led by Nuv’s favourite player’s baby brother, Eli Manning. You couldn’t help but root for the underdog, and I have never found Tom Brady good looking, a fact Nuv thinks I’m lying about. Call me crazy, but a bum chin and shitty haircut causes me no vaginal humming. In the fourth quarter, when Eli shook off 7 jersey-tearing sacks and threw a pass that Tyree caught above his helmet, I screamed like I was being stabbed to death. A.T. jumped so high beside me he almost landed on my shoulders. It wasn’t even the game-winning TD, but it was mayhem, all 12 of us in the apartment clapping and “whoooo-ing” and celebrating the best part of sports – taking someone else’s accomplishment and celebrating like it was your own.
The touch of an actual football is bumpy and rough, and throwing it with a perfect spiral like they do in the NFL is goddamn near impossible. I blame my small hands and the fact that ferry terminal lineups aren’t the best training grounds for future “Girls in the NFL” SI Cover stories. After about 100 throws with an aching arm, and cheered on by very supportive boys, I managed to throw a ball that didn’t look like a trembling bran muffin being dropped from outer space, and with hearty “oomphs” I was also able to catch balls by grasping them to my body and jumping like a one-legged kangaroo. I wasn’t stoked about my dirty jacket or the 90 throws that landed at the boy’s feet, but for tossing the ole pig skin for the first time in my late twenties, I thought I did a tremendous job.
Girls, if football is whatevs to you, make yourself 200% more attractive by cooking for the boys watching the game. I got myself a Husband and mad street cred from his buddies by making the following at Super Bowl parties:
Jesus Is In My Mouth Dip
In a long deep casserole dish layer the following ingredients in this order:
A can of refried beans
Four smashed avocadoes
A mixture of half real mayo, half sour cream with 1/2 a packet taco seasoning
Salsa
Cheddar cheese
Black olives and chopped green onions
Serve with tortilla chips and a humble smile
Flintstones Ribs & Mash
Step One: Buy a ton of cheap ribs, dump them in the largest pot you have, just cover them with water and and boil gently for 3-4 hours. Toss in some garlic cloves if that makes you happy. When the meat is threatening to fall off the bones, fish out the ribs, place on a baking sheet and douse with bbq sauce. Bake in the oven for 15 minutes on high till the sauce is black and sticky. Step Two: Peel and boil a dozen potatoes until tender. Mash with cream, salt, pepper, butter and cheddar cheese. Lick the masher and try not to take the whole vat with you into the bedroom for yourself.
Serve with wet naps, forks and clean cheeks for the incoming smooches
Confetti Cupcakes
Grab a box of Betty Crocker’s ‘Party Rainbow Chip’ cake mix. (Only that flavour will do. It was created by a group of Grammas back in the 50s and all boys love it.) Bake as many cupcakes as the box dictates and let cool. Make some simple frosting from icing sugar, butter, milk and food colouring. Ice and decorate with your dude’s favourite team colour/logo and watch the boys eat them a) in one bite including the wrapper b) in two bites and get called a “pussy” c) from across the room being tossed into their mouths by a buddy. The sound of a frosted cupcake plopping perfectly into a mouth is one of the greatest things ever.
When you have approximately 17 boys crammed into an apartment, eating your fragrant food, and drinking beer, and occasionally farting and cheering and high-fiving for three hours, it gets a wee barnyard-y. Pop a window or surreptitiously slide some of these magic sticks into the room and it won’t be the worst thing you’ve ever smelled.
As mentioned earlier, a David Fincher-directed Nike commercial (second link to it – GO WATCH IT PLEASE) was the first football-related thing that made my heart toggles stand up and look around. Part of it for sure, was the music used, a remix of a piece Ennio Morricone composed for ‘The Good the Bad and the Ugly.’ Put this piece of music on when you’re having a rough go of it, and instantly not dropping that one sock out of the dryer becomes the most amazing magical thing you’ve ever done. This will be the best thing you’ve heard all week.
