The SuperBowl of Epiphanies

After binging on savory, gravy-based Thanksgiving dishes, cat cuddles, and a viewing of the third Hunger Games movie with my brother, I was nestled under the neck massager/heating pad watching the 49er's (unfortunately) turn over the ball to the Seahawks twice when I had an epiphany.

I've never been a sports fan. That much is certain. But I never realized exactly why until this moment. 

I've always been reasonably afraid that my lack of true vigor for sports will prevent my future husband from wanting to marry me, somehow. So it's understandable that I don't really talk about this. But in truth, I've never really been into watching sports (at least on TV) and probably never will. The problem isn't that I don't have a sport; it's that I don't have a team. And lamentably, this is irreversible. Here's why. 

For most people, watching sports starts with their favorite team. Any interest in watching other teams stems from their relationship to the "home" team or that team's rival. For diehard sports fans, this is because their loyalty to a certain team comes from their loyalty to a place. Philadelphia. San Francisco. Chicago. Boston. The greater DC area. You get it. For my parents, their teams are a symbol of where they grew up. Their family. Their livelihood. Of course they would care about that. They should. 

I don't have any real loyalty to a team because I don't have a hometown. The closest I have is a vague, exaggerated allegiance to my parents' teams, mostly my dad's because I was born near where he grew up. It's familial, but in reality, sports teams mean nothing to me. I didn't grow up going to games. It doesn't remind me of my hometown atmosphere. I have no connection to them, and because of the person that I am, somehow this means I can't honestly get behind them. 

Though this all seems like an arbitrary and completely useless revelation, you're going to have to take my word that it brought me incredible relief. Finally, I have a logical reason for why I get distracted during the SuperBowl. It's like I didn't realize I was waiting to forgive myself until now. 

So, in conclusion: Mr. Right, I will completely respect and support your right to scream at the TV and have friends over when your team goes to the SuperBowl, and I will even pretend to be fully engaged, but I will never be the girl that can put on a jersey, sit in the middle of the couch on the edge of my seat and banter with the guys about players, no matter how much I wish I was. I will, however, wear the jersey because I think it looks cool.