Let me prefice this post with the fact that I know NOTHING about football. I wasn't even mildly interested in it until i found out this year that the players don't wear underwear. It has been the saving grace in my occasionally unavoidable viewing.

Fort Lauderdale, FL., 26 years ago....

I was the same age as the aforementioned date, and engaged to be married. I should have gotten the hint that when I picked Super Bowl weekend to exchange our vows and he squirmed, something wasn't quite right in couple heaven.

Ok, you don't want to marry me because "THE SUPER BOWL" is a bigger event? I decided to go with the flow and cook him and his buddies the best, and I MEAN BEST, Super Bowl munchies imaginable.

So we went to the store....an hour before the game started...and I didn't mean to, but it took..an HOUR...

He was sweating as I smiled happily and got in the car. He gritted his teeth and never said a word, but he drove really fast back to our little apartment.

The guys he'd invited over had already demolished the leftovers in the fridge, as well as his bottle of Jack, my special occasion Amartetto, and that nasty bottle of red I thought had gone bad.

They watched the game as I made crab imperial, roast beef tenderloin on croustades, and sour cream clam dip.

I never knew until the last bitter fights as we divorced how he hated me that hour in the car, and loved me enough to endure it.

Super Bowl of Love...win the game, lose the championship...or something like that, if I only knew how to play the game........