I dragged mine out a bit longer, y’know, to feed the hunger. My wife couldn’t give two shits about Iowa football three years ago, and let’s be honest, our first year together (the 2007 season) was NOT a good “recruiting” year. I even took a step backward when, on her birthday, I acted like a baby because Purdue happened to us (complete blowout- – we left to go to the casino with family at halftime, and I had to listen to the shitfest all the way to Tama- – for what it’s worth I calmed immediately after the game was over, but acceptance came at a price that day). I may have taken a second step back when she wanted to get married in the fall and I told her it would have to be during the bye week, and refused to budge on that (I don’t think it won me any points at least).
Last year I started to give her answers to the “why should I care” questions in the back of her mind. I started to give her the backstories and memories of jumping and hugging and high-fiving with family in the living room when Tate hit Holloway (and how it was his first touchdown as a Hawk, but how it couldn’t have been more important), and earlier in life how we beat #2 Michigan to remain #1. I talked a lot about the traditions, and feeling a part of something bigger. She wondered what was wrong with me when, the day after the birth of my son, she was cooing at our new baby and I was scanning the paper to get as much intel as I could on the upcoming Iowa/Iowa St game. [She realized this would be for life a few days later when she awoke due to my jumping in the living room- – she entered, groggy, as I continued jumping with my sleeping three day old baby pressed to my chest, my face contorted in silent scream- – and then we watched the replay of Andy Brodell’s punt return together.] She started to get a sense of what it was all about after I arrived home, drunk, with the biggest smile on my face on a cold day last November, and proceeded to gush (with hoarse voice) about the Penn State game into the wee hours of the morning (until I was sober enough to explain just how big of a deal it was).
This year is when I landed the hook. There has been a monsoon (I’m tired of “perfect storm”) of reasons for her to convert, and I’ve milked them for all they’re worth. The winning and the buzz, what she terms to be a “cute” QB, who turned out to like her favorite young adult vampire fiction, and I took her to a game (granted it was Indiana, but with a finish like that, how could you NOT be a fan). She started asking about game times at the start of the year, just so she knew when I’d be available. Then she started talking about sitting down and watching a game with me, but it didn’t happen (I kept putting her off saying things like, “You don’t like football” or “Wouldn’t you rather go to the spa” {which she actually does some Saturdays} and “Foosball! No son of mine is ever gon play the FOOSBALL!”. I guess she started checking in on games on the radio or t.v. after I started talking about what a special season it could turn out to be (right after Penn State ‘09). She arrived at the bar at the end of Michigan State (7 for 6) and saw the bar erupt inside as McNutt left a funny flavor in the Spartans’ moufs, and just in time to see her drunken husband hug every person on the way out of the bar. She got out of the car and hugged my Buddy (who’s b-day it was) as I took two laps around the establishment while SCREAMING “In heaven there is no beer…” (which we continued scream/singing for at least the next half hour).
So, midway through the Indiana game she didn’t understand why I was having a conniption fit, and saying that we’d lose if we kept playing that way, but that was also the hook. After we won, and I explained how unlikely it is to win having thrown 4 picks in the third, while trailing in points, she wanted to know more. So I started giving her little clinics (at her request) explaining the differences between pro-sets and spread, the positives and negatives of pocket passers vs. scramblers, no huddle, 3-4 vs. 4-3 and other ways of defending depending on likely pass or run, and she’s learned a lot so far. During the jfNW game she texted me “Ricky, NO!” when our leader went down. She consoled me well when we blew overtime against aOSU. The week of the Minny game she kept trying to get me to tell my Buddy that I lost his ticket so she could go instead (I didn’t), and she’s been trying to understand the BCS system ever since (I told her it was better not to kill her brain cells).
I had given her crap for so long because I wanted to make sure she wasn’t just asking about the Hawks to placate me, and because I didn’t want it to feel like it was forced on her, but the week of the Indiana game I heard the magic words. I was giving her crap, saying something like, “It could be cold or rainy, you might just want to stay home” and she turned to me and quietly but earnestly said, “No. I really want to go” then with excitement, “I can’t wait. I bet McNutt catches a touchdown and our defense is going to leave a corpse on the field one of these days.” I was beyond words. She said “our” defense- – hooked. She watched jfNW and Minny on t.v. She missed aOSU (cause she was watching the boy and we don’t have cable- – I went to the bar), but she listened on the radio (Dolph and Eddie probably added a whole new level to her fanhood). She’s already primed for next year, and talking about season tickets for both of us. I love this woman, and I can’t wait!

Good thing I decided to read the comments before repeating Bama’s sage words.

But that’s just because I’m assuming you don’t look good with boobs.

Plus, it was an ’86 Rose Bowl day, not a Manzi day. The HS secret remains.

I sincerely hope your name is a shout out to MC Vagina.

The Stoneman; master of all things fire. He who survives waking up in the morning with a burnt sleeping bag and flannel shirt and when upon being notified does not move away from the fire but goes back to sleep near the fire.

But my wife plays along nicely, even if she doesn’t really care. The pictures of us tailgating, drunk, wearing bumblebee bibs are some of my favorites

They were as awful as you might imagine (sorry, OPS).

If you don’t expect to much of meHawkeye State, you might not be let down.

On the other hand, I took a few classes there in 1998. So you could have dated me.

(Seriously, 89.7 was maybe the greatest radio station of all time. It’s gone now, isn’t it?)