How We Think Guys Watch Sports

Just as The Bachelor Pad pulls me in every week, “the big game” seems to have the same effect on guys. Literally, “the big game” could be anything. Football is understandable (it’s an American staple, right?), soccer is acceptable, tennis is a little more on the lackluster side and ice hockey? Now that’s pushing it. But here’s the thing, regardless of what sport it is, guys seem to find a way to make it this big grand watch-party event. So what’s a girl to do while her sports-fanatic boyfriend invites all of his friends over to sit back and enjoy his rather ridiculous and completely unnecessary 60-inch flat screen? Why, observe of course! This is male bonding at its finest and I’m not about to miss out on this one. Oh, and post up next to the food counter, duh.
The best part about dating a dude who is super into sports is sitting back and watching him and his “bros” as that “big game” comes on TV. The before, during and after boggle my mind. Dear Guys of America, what do too much Budlight, a bunch of dudes in one room, a televised sporting match and jalapeno poppers equal at the end of the night? Well, let’s just take a minute to find out.
The “big game” always begins with party prep. My initial thought is generally along the lines of, “Wait, you’ve never cooked like that for me!” After my brief anger and “wait, what?” feelings wear off, my second thought is normally that of, “Oh wow, that actually smells really good.” And suddenly, right before my eyes, my guy has whipped up a platter of killer nachos, taken the steaks off the grill (how was I not aware he owned a grill?!) and that’s when I hear it…the doorbell rings and my pizza dreams come true. Meat Lovers. I quickly look up into the heavens and whisper “Thank you, baby Jesus.” Now that the smorgasbord of food has been placed in perfect fashion on the counter, the guys make their way over. No, not make their way, more like hustle over like a pack of wild gorillas (they’re more human-like than lions, after all), climbing over furniture and reaching every-which-way over the glorious feast. “Damn you, kid in the over-sized Cowboys jersey,” I think as he nabs the last brownie bite. However, my excitement will not be shaken and I shall continue to down that pizza slice (and guard it with my life).
Then the “big game” begins. My boyfriend quickly forgets I exist and hops over the couch and plops down directly next to his fellow sports fans. By the way, the conversation at this point has not reached anything deeper than, “Did you see that Tosh.O web redemption last week?!” (Oh, the joys of “hanging with the guys,” right?) Needless to say, the only things left to be said are the guys’ opinions of each team, what they think the outcome will be, who will take MVP, and other crucial life questions along those lines. Occasionally they’ll broaden their horizons by chiming in about whether or not that cheerleader is a D or DD. I think to myself, “She’s an A with a damn padded bra, dumbass. You can’t be that skinny with those knockers.” But I will not say it out loud, for I don’t want to crush their dreams…they can find out for themselves when they take that girl in the Victoria’s Secret Very Sexy Miraculous Push-Up bra home from the bar.
As the game gets more intense and more beer has been dumped into the cooler, the guys become a little more rambunctious. Their shouts have turned into screams, their faces have reddened and their eyes are now glazed. Not to mention the man-love is at an all-time high. I’m talkin’ high fives, fist pounds and the very worst, the “double pistols,” often completed with a blow of each hand. Yeah, it gets pretty bad. Then one guy rips a giant fart and I am quickly summoned to my boyfriend’s bedroom to regain sanity.
At last, the game comes to an end! What’s that? Overtime? Nooooo! While I check Perez on my phone I look up to find the guys literally within a foot of the TV…as if the closer they get the bigger difference they’re going to make in the game. Alas, “our” team has won! As the shrieks of happiness pierce my eardrums, I stand stiff as a board against the wall and watch in horror…and amazement. The dudes are chanting, “Texas Fight!” Wait, but this isn’t even college level…(I swear, Texas guys will use any excuse to say the “Texas Fight” song). Regardless, the big win has imploded enough joy for every single guy to grab a can of Bud and shotgun it.
As the cleanup crew walks around the apartment (aka, me), the guys are continuing the evening in pure college-guy fashion: beer-pong and flip cup. Classy.
Since the game started at two p.m. and drinking began at 11 a.m. and continued until seven p.m., it’s no surprise that nearly a dozen guys are passed out, wasted, faced down…on the carpet.
Successful “big game” event, if I do say so myself.
Want to hear the other side? Check out Busted Coverage’s take on how they think women watch sports.

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