For love of the game

(Miss Dub approved this message.)

I knew Mr. Dub was a BYU sports fan when I married him. I just didn’t know how big of a fan he really was. I mean, as part of our friendship and courtship, I had attended BYU basketball games and hollered “Ricky, Danny” and “That’s how they do it in Provo” with the Mister and his posse of tall friends. But I figured the allure had more to do with taunting the opposing team than actual love of the game. (How funny that sounds now!)

I got my first glimpse at his true fanaticism when we were engaged and the power went out unexpectedly during a BYU basketball game just the two of us were watching at his bachelor pad. I thought Mr. Dub would just shake off the interruption, but he began to pace wildly across the floor and couldn’t seem to hold a conversation. Next thing I knew, he threw me into the car and raced us off to a nearby Circuit City. There, we stood and watched the game on a display television until the store closed. (And from there, we went and parked at a nearby “makeout” spot – not to kiss but to listen to the end of the game. He probably remembers the game, I remember my outfit.)

Flash forward to the first year of our marriage when BYU sports became somewhat of a touchy subject around our house. Planning our Saturdays around game times – even with Mr. Dub willing to TiVo the games for shorter viewing – was frustrating for me. Sitting while he watched them was even harder because I didn’t really understand the game (or have a real desire to learn).

I didn’t understand his passion. I didn’t understand how he could get so upset or so happy based on the way strangers handled a ball.

Me? I’m a real softy. When someone misses a play, I feel bad for the player and his mother. When the ball is intercepted by the other team, I say, “Poor guy, it could have happened to anyone.” Mr. Dub, on the other hand, is unforgiving. The slightest misstep and he’s screaming, “C’mon!” to the TV.

And there’s been a lot of screaming at our house over the years. After all, BYU’s football team had some lousy to mediocre seasons up until this one. But through all the yelling, I managed to gain a small understanding of the game. (Apparently, the goal is to get the ball into the end zone.) And I even managed to enjoy a few games.

But I won’t lie; I’d still rather be shopping.

And that’s when it dawned on me – Mr. Dub is to football like I am to a pair of $59.99 shoes on sale for $14.99. And just like I judge celebrity fashion despite the fact that I’m a poor, chubby nobody, Mr. Dub enjoys judging the athletic prowess of men who could beat him up (and my man is pretty darn tough).

So when John Beck ran frantically right to left before throwing a winning touchdown to Johnny Harline with no time left in the BYU/Utah game, and Mr. Dub broke into a huge smile – this after cursing the team and threatening to forget all their victories this year over one poorly-played game – I got it.

That’s what it means to be a fan.