My husband is a die-hard football fan.
I did not grow up watching football, which is unusual in the Deep South. Truth be told, my dad was more of a Wrestle Mania fan. I have fond memories of watching Hulk Hogan throw folding chairs at King Kong Bundy.
Then I met Robbie Hobbs, and he had to explain football to me like I was a very small child. I still don’t really understand it, but I’ve finally grasped the basics. I think.
To help illustrate exactly what kind of football fan he is, here is a picture of him waiting for a subway in New York City on game day. He walked all over NYC like that, and if he noticed someone staring at his pants, he would point to another person nearby and say, “Check out that dude’s pants.”
Then there is the LSU Santa hat that he pulls out every year, pictured below.
These hilarious quirks are pretty much why I married him.
I believe I’ve done a decent job of embracing the football fan life. I have purple and gold clothing that I wear when the occasion calls for it. I like to tailgate, as long as kids aren’t involved, mostly because I love an excuse to day drink. We are now the people who plan our lives around the football schedule. When an LSU game is happening, I understand that we will be watching it — if not in person, then on TV.
I know when to yell, I know when to head to the fridge for another beer, and I know when to send Robbie outside to watch the game through the window.
This weekend was the most important weekend of this season so far, because it was the game against our biggest rival — Alabama. That’s pretty much all I know. I was going to attempt to regurgitate the stats and rankings that he kept talking about in the days leading up to the game, but the truth is I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. All I know is that we HATE losing to Alabama, and Robbie gets really depressed — like lying on the living room floor face down in sadness — every time it happens.
On Saturday afternoon, I left the house for a few hours to visit my parents. When I came home, he had done something to his face.
“HOW DO YOU LIKE MY LSU BEARD?!” he asked excitedly.
I stood in the kitchen and stared at him for a few seconds, trying to make sense of what was happening, but before I could figure it out our three children did what three children do and both of us sprang into action cleaning up spills, wiping noses, and refilling plates.
Two hours later, after our kids were tucked snugly in their beds, we sat down to watch the game. This is when he again looked at me and said, “HOW DO YOU LIKE MY LSU BEARD?!”
I studied him for a long time. He was grinning from ear to ear, beaming with pride. It was clear that he had spent a lot of time and energy carefully trimming his facial hair to spell out “L S U.” The “S” was around his mouth in particular looked like it was a painstaking process.
He waited for my reaction.
“It’s backwards,” I deadpanned.
He didn’t believe me and jumped up to look in the mirror, which of course proved that I was incorrect and his beard clearly said LSU. He’s a very intelligent man — let me be clear — he just didn’t want to accept the truth. So I took my phone out and showed him that his face definitely spelled out U S L.
Also, the “S” was backwards.
I was still giggling about it several hours later, when we lost the game against Alabama and the sadness began. I think that Robbie felt personally responsible for the loss this time.
It can really hurt to take one for the team.