Let me be absolutely clear right up front; I have zero interest in and no knowledge or understanding of football. In my opinion it’s a violent, concussion-inducing game right up there with cage fighting. Any time I’ve tried to watch a game I’m bored to tears within four minutes watching overpaid fat guys run a few yards and fall down, or more often, get knocked down—then, get up, only to run and fall down again. I can think of four hundred things I’d rather be doing with my time than watching such masochism.

My husband has the polar opposite attitude toward football. He loves it and in an ideal world he would watch it on television non-stop all day every day. He’s been known to get up in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep and watch a prerecorded college game. He even prefers to watch the Super Bowl alone on his own TV with no distractions so he can concentrate and focus totally on the plays. So you see we’re not on the same team when it comes to football. I have no objection to him watching football until his eyeballs fall out as long as he wears his headphones and doesn’t try to involve me.

This year’s Super Bowl on Sunday was a turning point however. He made a tactical error that I plan to capitalize on for the rest of his life. After the third quarter of the big multi-bazillion-dollar game between the Los Angeles Rams and the New England Patriots, he emerged from his man-cave and declared that it was the most boring football game he’d ever seen. “There was no offense; just defense and at the end of the third quarter the score is only 3/3.” I guess there was no blood and guts, no questionable calls, no brilliant plays and in general, no excitement. He complained that even the much-anticipated commercials were boring. I’m sure the companies that invested $5.2 million for their 30-second slot would be thrilled to hear that. Things picked up only slightly at the end of the fourth quarter and as we all know the Patriots won—again! Yawn.

The only conclusion I can draw from this experience is that I was right all along. I was better off watching Masterpiece Theatre where the blood is fake and the suspense is guaranteed. It’s my intention to milk this vindication of my attitude toward football until our ashes are resting side by side on a quiet hilltop far from big-screen televisions. I knew all along I was right; it just took the 2019 Super Bowl to prove it.