Let me just come out and say that I am probably a pretty difficult guy to live with in May and June. I’m a huge NBA fan, to the point where I bring up Bill Simmons in casual conversation. If you don’t know who that is, don’t feel bad, as it only serves to validate my sneaking suspicion that no one else in St. Louis cares about NBA basketball as much as I do. And that is not a sentence that I write with pride. I often feel like my fandom, and specifically my love for the Phoenix Suns, is a bizarre fetish that I must keep hidden away. This is why the NBA playoffs are such an exciting and frustrating time for me. On one hand, it is thrilling to watch the best players in the world go head to head over the course of a series with personal legacies and the fate of entire cities (Hello, Cleveland!) in the balance. On the other hand, I kind of feel like an a-hole if I’m the only one who wants to watch the game. And at the gym? It’s a good thing I looked up Charter’s channel number for TNT (49 — DirecTV is 245) before I went because the guy running the counter had no idea where to look for the game last week.
So yeah, I’ve got this thing about me that nobody understands. Except, of course, for Jen. As far as sports-wives are concerned, she’s definitely a 10. She understands that sports are much better in glorious HD and is willing to watch her shows in the bedroom. She has managed, over the years, to be able to read a book or magazine without the TV distracting her so we can actually see each other in the evenings. Hell, she even knows the difference between Dirk Nowitzki and Steve Nash — and if that doesn’t sound impressive fellas, ask your ladies about it. The NBA is something that Jen has come into over the years, and while she certainly wouldn’t consider herself a fan, I recognize and appreciate her moderate interest in something that is so important to me.
High five, Jen. High five.