The Marriage Files

Next Sunday is the Super Bowl, and I will be glued to the TV at kickoff time along with 130 million other Americans—more than 50 million of them women. You might not have known it, but more women watch the Super Bowl than the Golden Globes and a lot of other events perceived as being "chick things." Yet the misconception that the Super Bowl is a "guy thing" persists.

Men are always amazed when I say I’m a football fan. First, they assume that I’m single and that my alleged interest in sports is just a ploy to catch a guy. When I point out that I’m already married, they then assume I’m not really interested in sports, but that it’s the only thing my husband will actually do with me. Now, granted, doing things as a couple is a problem I discussed back in “My So-Called Social Life,” but things aren’t that bad. No, my love of sports, and football in particular, is genuine.

Men like to think they're the only ones who appreciate the things that make football interesting—strategy, timing, brute force, specialized skills, a weird combination of selflessness and star quality, and the coaching to pull it all together and make a team perform like a finely tuned automobile—but they're wrong. I love all these aspects of the game...and more.

In fact, it's the "more" that I like best of all, and that is: I just get a rise out of watching a bunch of fit men in the prime of their lives running around in skin-tight uniforms for three hours. Because in my opinion, whoever designed football uniforms should be sainted. Truly, from September through January, Sunday is a day to be thankful. And what could be better on Monday night after a hard start to the work week than watching a few more tight bodies in Spandex shimmy around on a football field? Be honest, ladies: wouldn't you enjoy life a lot more if all well-toned men walked around in shoulder pads and stretch pants all the time? Of course you would!

I realize that there are legions of women out there who have never thought of sports in this way, and it's my goal to let them know what they've been missing. Although my personal recommendation for attaining sports nirvana is football, lots of sports offer the same potential. I know women for whom the holy grail of sports spectatorship is swimming. The reason should be obvious: fit guys + clothes that are tight or skimpy, or even better, tight and skimpy. Witness World Wrestling Federation matches. Ever wonder why there are always so many women in the audience? Hint: it’s not for the display of honest sportsmanship.

Some sports, however, you can cross off the list without a backward glance. Forget basketball since they started making the players wear satin potato sacks. And baseball is a waste of time since the standard of physical fitness in America’s official pastime is two notches below that of the general public. A few too many hot-dog-and-beer meals, maybe? And hockey?! There could be an orangutan under one of those uniforms and you wouldn't be able to tell the difference. I'll play it, but you'll never catch me watching it.

Of course, with sports viewing comes the massive withdrawal otherwise known as the "off season." Over the years I have developed a technique for dealing with the annual drought of male muscle flexing between the Super Bowl and, roughly, Labor Day. I couldn't face the prospect of seven long months without football if it weren't for men's fitness magazines. My husband gets a complimentary subscription to one of these godsends through his gym. I make a point of fetching the mail just so I can nick it before he gets his paws on it. I've even taken to clipping photos and sending them to my unattached girlfriends as morale boosters. I tell him I'm saving recipes for "muscle-building meals," and he's smart enough not to question it.

If you've never taken a look at a men's fitness magazine, well, all I can say is that Playgirl never had this much beefcake. Every issue has a youthful, bare-chested guy with a well-defined physique and a great smile featured prominently on the cover. They could sell the cover alone for the price of the whole magazine. Inside, there are just pages and pages full of more of the same stuff. If my husband's subscription didn't come for free, you bet I'd buy it; I’d even pay a premium not to be bothered by those pesky subscription cards.

The great thing about fitness magazines is that they're published year round and they're readily available, so whenever your sport of choice ends for the season, you don't have to go casting about for a second-rate replacement. Just take a trip to the newsstand.

But back to the Super Bowl for a second. While I'm not really surprised that the average Joe in the street doesn't understand the allure of the Super Bowl for women, I am astonished that advertisers and marketing execs seem equally clueless. In light of our ailing economy, I'd like to suggest a few products that I'd like to see advertised during the upcoming Super Bowl. How about “special” sports trading cards in plain brown wrappers? We’d have to keep buying them to complete our quarterback sets. And how about signature sleepwear? No woman wants to wear a nightie with “Victoria’s Secret” printed on it—trust me. But jammies with a picture of, oh, either of the Barber brothers? I’d never wash them—I’d never want to be separated from them for the length of a spin cycle.

So ladies, now that you understand why to watch the Super Bowl, get out there and root for your team! Or hell, root for them both! Because even if you don’t care who wins or how they play the game, there’s still the simple fact that the players are hunks…and that’s what really matters.

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