They lost,” I moaned.. “I can’t believe it.”
“Can we talk?” my wife said.
“Sure,” I answered glumly, not that I was in the mood. I had another game coming up in a few minutes. This one had better not end so badly.
“I know you love your teams, honey, but sometimes when one loses you sink into a real funk.”
“But they blew it!” I protested. “They’re going to miss the playoffs!”
“I know, but you can’t let it ruin your day . . . our day.”
Our day. Now I felt guilty. Because I knew I didn’t always get over it, not quickly, at least. I could mope and carry on, that was for sure. “Jules,” I said, “I’m sorry. I guess I know what you mean. It’s just that I care about the teams and the players. It kills me when we lose.”
“We?” Julee said. “You don’t lose. You just watch.”
Julee was absolutely right. I took my teams’ losses personally and that was dumb. That took all the fun out of being a fan . . . and out of being around me. “Why don’t you change clothes and we’ll go out for dinner,” I said.
“Someplace with no TV?”
“I promise.”
