Our boys are now 7 and 9 so my husband decided this magic season would be the one when they could each manage their own Fantasy Football team in the extended family league.
Since their infancy, my husband has dreamed of the day when they could check their football stats together, eat nachos on the couch in their team jerseys, and toss the ball back and forth between quarters.
Never having a brother himself, my husband has looked forward to the male bond he’d get to witness between our boys. And what better way to solidify that bond than with a little NFL with plenty of Saturday college games in the mix?
However the boys are taking this football thing to the extreme. Each game, each play, is a Super Bowl. When the boys’ Fantasy teams are matched on any particular Sunday…watch out. Tears have been shed. Tough words have been exchanged. The meaning of pride is now understood.
I’m not sure if it’s more adorable or more exasperating (ok, it’s slightly more adorable), but the boys shout things almost every second, strange words from a football lexicon that is still somewhat foreign to me.
“Can you believe Mark Sanchez threw another pick 6?!”
“Arian Foster just got me 2 ½ points with that long run!!!”
They constantly handle my husband’s open laptop during games to check scores too, the gleam in their eyes never dimming.
Their Dad will take breaks and do other things like mow the lawn, but they’re captivated by every second, even the commercials. We recently had to agree to watch Sunday afternoon games only; otherwise we’d never get anything done.
At times my husband even gets a little frustrated by the boys’ intensity, their questions, and mostly their competitiveness. He’ll look to me as I pass with the laundry basket, but I just try to stifle my giggles as I give him that raised eye-brow, “Be careful what you wish for” kind of look.