Can we talk about football, please? Like how awesome Tony Romo (who must always be referred to as ‘Tony Romo,’ never ‘Tony’) performed for my fantasy football team? Or how awesome football is in general, with its speed, athleticism, crazy fan bases, Hail Marys, trick plays, or 4th-and-1s?

I know there’s women out there who hate football and all it stands for, who don’t understand the allure, who don’t know who L.T. or T.O. are, who don’t know why their husbands or significant others would need to make player trades or adhere to salary caps, who don’t know why their guys watch games downstairs on the sly or vanish from parties to check scores.

But there’s got to be women out there who love the sport just as much, if not more, than some men. Right?

I can’t be the only woman at work who steals the sports section from the men so I can check my players’ statistics. And I can’t be the only woman who can tell you which team specific players used to play for, even if we’re talking about players who were done playing before I was born.

There has to be women out there who can’t miss opening kickoffs (especially if they are Vikings fans, since the Vikes are infamous for giving up touchdowns 3 seconds into the game). There has to be women who like to scream at the television: “Flea flicker! Why won’t you try the flea flicker, for god’s sake, COME ON!!!”

There has to be women who don’t understand the competitive merit of a 2-yard screen pass on third-and-long, who understand that the coach has to keep rushing the ball to establish the run, but don’t understand that when that hasn’t worked the last 15 times, why a nice long pass isn’t in order.

I know some women use football as an opportunity to rag on their significant other for ignoring them. For Jason & I, football is quality bonding time. I love sitting on the couch with him, both of us adorned with Vikings jerseys or sweatshirts, surrounded by football fare like beef sticks or fresh-from-the-crockpot-meatballs, our fantasy football lineups spread out hopefully in front of us like lottery tickets.

I love high-fiving him after a particularly good play, scaring the cats off our laps with our exuberance. And I love how my soul dies a little when a game is announced by Joe Buck, that talentless hack.

Anyway, football is awesome, is what I’m saying. And I hope more and more women out there feel the same way.

Because then maybe I wouldn’t have to always retrieve the sports section from the freaking men’s bathroom.

Football