Today is the day when your social media feeds are flooded with proposals and your friends telling you how much they love or are loved by their significant other. Blah, Blah, Blah. The pressure for the perfect overpriced day is like a box of those candy hearts; yuck!
Cupid was no Olympic medalist because he hasn’t hit anywhere close to my target. No way he auditioned for the role. One look at his ability to shoot and miss should have been a hard “it’s a no for me dawg”. The role should have been given to someone who at least knows what side of the arrow is sharp.
Growing up my dad coached me in a lot of sports. No practice was complete if he didn’t yell at me to “take a lap”. Dad, it didn’t work. You just made me a runner. When I tell Cupid to take a lap, that chubby turd just flaps his wings and shoots another dull arrow wide left. Clearly, Cupid was not an athlete. So I did what any single girl would do on the most romantic Hallmark day of the year, I started a blog about real love.
Real love is knowing your baseball team was cheated on and lost back-to-back World Series, but still you can’t wait for Opening Day. Real love is knowing your college team is not even on Lunardi’s bubble watch and you’re still counting down the days until Selection Sunday. Real love is knowing the Redskins may never be good and you still have hope they will win a Super Bowl. Real love is knowing that Barry Bonds was a Hall of Famer long before 762*. Real love is knowing that if I ever see Purdue’s Carsen Edwards in the streets, I will kick him back for all of Vol Nation.
Real love is using your savings account to book last minute flights halfway across the country to see your Alumni play in the college World Series, twice. Real Love is believing Tiger still has another Major win in him and that DJ will wear the Green Jacket. Real love is loving your team when they break your heart. Real love is still supporting your team even when they are flat out embarrassing. For better or worse is the foundation of real love.
While a lot of you are spending triple the amount on pretty flowers and candy and stressing about how to show your loved one just how much you love them. I’m celebrating ten, TEN, years of Talking Sports with Northern Wit and Southern Charm. Google says that the average blog only lasts about 100 days. I’m celebrating a decade of my mom still asking me if I can use a different four-letter word. (Sorry, mom, sometimes, you just can’t.) Take that, Cupid!
If we can try to impeach the President, can we impeach Cupid too? Hey, Nancy, when you sober up, we should talk! I could start another blog and expose Cupid for all of his air balls. But that’s a never-ending tragic comedy and I, like the Democratic party, have embarrassed my parents enough over the years.
Thank you to all of the readers, (even if that list is just my twin brother and my parents). And thank you to all of those who have subscribed to the email list. Thank you to Tony Basilio for asking me to share my blog on his website and to the University of Tennessee athletic department for more tragic comedies to add to my life.
I hope that the next decade of me posting blogs I can announce that I finally got that growth spurt or that Tennessee won a National Championship, but I’m sure it will mostly be another decade of my mom asking me if I can use a different four-letter word. If you like a post, tell a friend. If you hate a post, please, tell everyone! (Advice from my idol, Clay Travis.)
Happy Anniversary, to a decade of my real love.
(What else do I love about Valentine’s Day? It’s my besties birthday! Happy Birthday, Liz! I hope your day is full of wine, sushi, chocolate and practicing making Mia a big sister. XO)