Football "Widower"

If a male widow is a widower, and if a wife is abandoned because her mate is caught up in the hype and hysteria over a football game is called a “football widow,” then you can call a guy abandoned by his guy, a “football widower.” Honestly, I could care less about sports.

I’m not quite sure why I feel that way, but it probably dates back to grade school, where I was the smallest, most uncoordinated kid in class. Last picked for teams, always fumbling around, slow to run, and not understanding the rules of most sports. I would inevitably do the wrong thing.

I was in school during the time when gym teachers treated kids who were uncoordinated klutzes like me very badly. The gym teachers would make fun of me publicly, and make me feel rotten. I especially remember having the same gym teacher in fifth grade through eighth (he followed me to Junior High). His poking fun at me was the highlight of fun for the other boys in the class. He caused me to resist and shun having anything to do with athletics and physical fitness. I’ll never forget Mr. Tucker and his nastiness. It took me a long, long time to get over that, and return to a gym as an adult, where now at least I enjoy swimming regularly.

My twin brother was the “jock’s jock.” My gym teachers seemed to enjoy making comparisons, often saying, “why can’t you be like your brother, or at least try?” They were implying that my abilities could be improved if I only tried. They never knew how much time my brother practiced with me, trying to help me get better. I just never “got it.”

Fortunately, my twin brother never betrayed me, ridiculed me, or made me feel badly. In fact, if I were just an ordinary short klutz, I probably would have been teased unmercifully by the jocks in high school. However, his strong bond of brotherhood and obvious love for his “little brother” forced his fellow jocks at least to accept me. If any one of them made a nasty or rude comment, they had hell to pay. My brother loved me unconditionally.

In return, I would always show up to cheer him on when he was Captain of this-or-that team. He was very talented. He called me his “#1 cheerleader,” which was quite a courageous position to take, since he was surrounded by a lot of girls who had eyes for him (and him for them). But he never, ever, treated me poorly, or made a joke or off-color reference to me and my lack of sports capabilities or knowledge. He just would give me a signal to say “we go that way now” so I would know which direction was “good”.

Well, anyway, I never developed an interest in sports. I had other things to do. I always cheered for my brother in whatever sport he played, showed up for his awards banquets, and was the first on my feet to give him standing ovations.

Which brings me to today, when I’m living with my partner who hails from Pittsburgh, and whose team is playing in the Super Bowl. I’ll be preparing snacks and game-night foods for my partner to enjoy — then go curl up with a good book and go to bed early.

I’m still in somewhat of a state of shock at the loss of my friend who died on Friday, and remain in a quiet mood. But I’m okay. The outpouring of love and compassion from my partner, my family, and my friends has been very heartwarming. So don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I have a strong net holding me up. I’m just sad, but I’ll move on to better feelings and a brighter smile soon enough.

Meanwhile, whatever team you may support, good luck… enjoy and have fun!

2 thoughts on “Football "Widower"

  1. (LOL!) You and I have something in common, BHD! I’m not into football or any other kind of sports either. I never could sit through a big game like this. I even posted about my own disinterest in the Super Bowl on my blog this morning as well.

  2. Hey, little ‘bro, I will always love you, come what may. Thank you for your nice remarks on your blog today. Totally undeserved.

    I love you always,


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