I Don't Give a Sh*t About Football: A Football Widow's Lament

I don't give a shit about football,
Yeah, I just went there. I said it,
I've attempted to work up an interest,
But, no. I don't care. Not one bit.

With several boyfriends and a husband,
I faked it again and again,
Don't be pervy -- I faked liking football,
When I really gave zero shits. None.

I sat with them on many bleachers,
In high school and college and onward,
I tried hard to concentrate on games,
My mind. It did nothing but wander.

See my eyes glaze over in boredom,
As the guys at work start up their smack-talk,
Getting all worked up and bothered,
'Bout the Jets or Bengals or the Seahawks.

They go on and on using jargon,
Such as "hook," "muff" "loose ball" and "pooch-kick,"
I laugh, 'cause That is What She Said,
It just all sounds so vaguely erotic.

On Saturday, I'm watching TV,
When in comes the husband to oust me,
He wants to watch Bucs on the big screen,
Oh well. Guess I'll have to go shopping.

The Superbowl is just a Sunday,
I'm hoping to finish the laundry,
Of course, I need to work fast since,
We've been asked to Superbowl parties.

You know, I guess it ain't all bad,
There's cheering and snacks and libations,
They should just take away that lame "game" stuff,
And make it a big celebration.

'Cause, I don't give a shit about football,
But I'll gladly be at your tailgate,
Drinking several cans of your Bud Light,
And fixing myself a big food plate.