How to date a Chicago Bears fan part II: Us vs. Them

My phone rang at about 11 yesterday morning. "You were supposed to call me so we could go watch the game together." I knew this call was coming, even though I had, the night before, said that I didn't really want to watch the game in her presence. I had a funny feeling it might lead to either a) our first fight or b) the end of our romantic relationship or worse, c) someone hurting someone else physically. "You're coming over right? I'll order some food for lunch."

She's pretty convincing.

I took a shower, got dressed, and headed over to her condo. I was talking to her doorman, trying to get him to call her to let me in, when she emerged from the parking garage, wearing her Brian Urlacher jersey and carrying the Sunday paper, which has quickly become a routine for us on Sundays, crosswords, ads, and football. What she doesn't know is that's exactly how I like my Sundays- lazy days spent doing the crossword and watching football. Occasionally, she'll make one-eyed sandwiches, better known, apparently, as eggy in the basket. She also doesn't know that I have immense respect for Brian Urlacher. Just because I am a Vikings fan doesn't mean that I can't respect other players. Especially the really good ones.

When we got to her place, the Vikings were already punting, and I had a bad feeling about the whole game. It wasn't for a few minutes before we found out my boys had forced her boys to fumble on the opening kickoff. Of course, in true Vikings fashion, they couldn't convert a turnover into any points. We watched for a while, sometimes sitting next to each other, often times at opposite ends of the couch. The pizza delivery guy arrived, and she answered the door. I followed, as I was paying for said pizza. The delivery guy saw her jersey, then my classic John Randle jersey. "Looks like you guys are going to have an interesting afternoon."

I'm sure everyone knows that the Bears wound up winning the game. This was of no surprise to really anyone, even with a quarterback that couldn't have beaten a pee-wee team on downers. There was no gloating, no crying, no argument, and nobody got physically hurt. At least, not in her condo, I'm sure someone, somewhere did get hurt, but it wasn't her, and it wasn't me.

We did, however, avoid any and all post-game discussion or highlight reels. There was nothing for either of us to see there.