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Eve doesn't know who the New York Knicks are.
I hear your gasps, and I know that you, my brothers, feel my pain. I, too, was once an innocent, unscarred soul, blissfully unaware that such a creature existed.
Eve dropped the bombshell casually when one of my friends mentioned he had Knicks tickets. As if it were nothing more than a minor detail, like announcing a dislike for anchovies on pizza or having a preference for dogs over cats, she made it known she doesn't just not like the Knicks, which are words painful enough for any New York man to hear.
She plain old just doesn’t know who they are.
As the reality of the situation sunk in, I stared at her in disbelief. I half expected Ashton Kutcher to pop out from behind something, announcing I’d been 'Punk'd'. But there was no hidden camera and no celebrity prankster. Just Eve, staring at the elevator floor numbers as they lit up, one by one.
I know what you are thinking. Help the woman. Educate her. If you find yourself in a similar situation, you may want to fight the good fight. You could attempt to explain the offside rule, show her highlights from last year’s season, and even try to make her understand the emotional rollercoaster of the playoffs.
I did none of this.
I bravely navigated the minefield of non-sports conversations. I learned about the intricacies of kombucha brewing, engaged in animated discussions about art house cinema, and even considered watching 'The Bachelor' which, in my opinion, is much scarier than the current price of said Knicks tickets.
I won’t lie. It was rough. There were moments of despair when I yearned for the comforting sight of an ESPN notification popping up on my phone. The lack of sports banter felt like a slap shot to the face. The struggle was real.
But gentlemen, I stand before you as a testament that it is truly possible to survive a sports-free zone. Give it a shot. You will never share all interests with your woman. These differences, while they may be hard to understand and accept, are all about stepping out of comfort zones and sometimes even sacrificing your spot on the couch during March Madness.
Your woman might not know the difference between a touchdown and a home run. She still refers to the Super Bowl as "that big football thingy." And she certainly will not understand your need for a separate fridge dedicated solely to game day beverages. But she’ll make up for that. Maybe laugh at your terrible jokes, help shave your back, and make sure you never run out of man wipes.
If you’re really lucky, maybe you’ll get some of her incredible guacamole dip just in time for game day.
Progress, am I right?
So, if you ever find yourself falling for someone who thinks LeBron James is a type of coffee, you're not alone. Take a deep breath, brace yourself for a world without sports references in everyday conversation, and hold onto your seat. It's going to be a bumpy ride. But at the end of the day, it will probably be worth it.
Hell, who needs the thrill of a last-minute field goal?
Okay. Don’t answer that one.
Until next month…
I stare at the screen.Just stare, flexing my fists, my irritation threatening to turn full-on pissed. The nerve, to use me for some laughs, and seriously, calling my disinterest in sports a ‘dark secret,’ especially when I just purged arealdark secret?
Does he really look at me like I’m some kind of out-of-touch imbecile?
And for the record I do not, I repeat, do not, watchThe Bachelor.
Nor do I make guacamole.
I make sour cream onion dip, for God’s sake.
His over-the-top dramatic tone hit a nerve—actually, several nerves—but I have to admit, I did finish the article with a smirk on my face. It’s endearing in a way, and funny to see his perspective on something I think is completely normal.
But even as my irritation dwindles away, I have this nagging little voice that’s calling Jasper and really, all the guys, a bunch of sports-obsessed muscle-brained jocks. Sure, that’s a stereotype, but hell if he didn’t reduce me to one also.
My ambivalence, coupled with the push and pull of should-I or should-I-not, just multiplied. I’m not sure if I should be annoyed or tickled he wrote a barely-disguised article about me.
I mean, I guess there is a genuine warmth in the way he guides his readers through the landmine of dating a woman who doesn’t know diddly about sports. It’s not like he is describing my type as a lost cause. He’s capable of looking at the positive side of knowing someone like me, and wraps his article up on a note of hopefulness.
I’m clearly on his mind, at least enough to pen an article about me, which is flattering. But on the other hand, he’s mocking me if only just a little bit, which I take as a challenge.
I would bet he figured I’d never see his article—given my disinterest in sports, why would I waste my time readingSports, Inc.?
Little does he know. And little does he know that if he wants to start a war, I will proudly take my place on the opposing team.
Game on, my friends.
