Who are you, and what have you done with my sports-hating wife?

September 25, 2011

Like all couples, Viking Woman and I have our differences.

For instance, she’s an outdoor person and I prefer to be inside. Where it’s warm and dry. And there aren’t any weeds.

She’s a dog person. I’m a too-lazy-to-walk-the-dog person.

She loves children. I like children. When they belong to someone else. And live far away. Preferably in another country.

She likes rom-coms. I’d rather poke a sharp stick in my eye.

She likes country music. I’d rather poke a sharp stick in my ear.

She likes people. I prefer to be alone. In a lighthouse. Built in a cave.

I like sex. She likes to sleep.

You get the picture.

We also tend to perch on opposite sides of the fence when it comes to sports. And by sports I mean hockey, as opposed to those other sweaty activities involving people who can’t skate.

I love watching hockey. Viking Woman would rather conduct a root canal on herself. With a chainsaw.

Although, having said that, she did once prove her love to me when we were still dating by memorizing the names of all the NHL teams. I was suitably impressed, even if there were only 21 teams at the time.

Of course, like all romantic gestures, this one did not survive the wedding vows.

Day of wedding:

Me: Prove your love by naming all the teams.

VW: (proceeds to do so)

Day after wedding:

Me: Prove your love by naming all the teams.

VW: Puck off!

Despite all these disagreements, we have managed to stay together for nearly two decades.

Until now, that is.

It’s with a heavy heart that I must report Viking Woman has taken up with another man. Fifteen other men, to be exact.

Because that’s the number of players each team is allowed on the field at any one time during the Rugby World Cup tournament.

That’s right – the woman who would rather bathe in battery acid than share the same room with a copy of The Hockey News, now sits in the lounge, eyes fixated on the TV, yelling encouragement at the All Blacks, New Zealand’s national team.

Rugby is a relatively new sport to both of us and so we’re not quite sure of all the rules. Which might explain why I’m shouting, “Hey, ref! Get a real job!” while Viking Woman is shouting, “Hey, ref! Get out of the way! You’re blocking my view of Daniel Carter’s bum!”

Like I said, as far as I’m concerned, there is hockey and then there are silly games played by people who can’t afford to buy pads. Rugby is one of those silly games: Large hunks of meat crashing into each other, wearing little more than a tight jersey and short shorts.

Nope, can’t see the attraction.

The winner of the Rugby World Cup won’t be crowned until Oct. 23. I expect this marriage to be well and truly over by then.

Unless, of course, Viking Woman can recite the 30 teams currently playing in the NHL. Let’s start with Anaheim . . .

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