Yellow Flag on the Turf and on my “Date”

Football fans? Better be. No wusses allowed. Cleveland Browns fans? Eh, it’s rough, amiright? Gluttons for punishment, we are, but we can’t help ourselves. **Sigh**

Assuming anyone that remotely likes football has probably heard about or seen Brandon Weeden’s now notorious “worst pass ever thrown in the NFL” from the Browns' game last Sunday versus the Detroit Lions. “Worst?” Perhaps? At any rate, it is way up there in “boneheaded” passes, as even the quarterback, himself, described it.

Big thanks to Mr. Benny Hill for making this rendition some how tolerable, nay, even entertaining.  

Bad passes and bad football often go hand in hand when we bleed brown and orange. It is what it is. And bad “passes” and bad dates often go hand in hand for this Girlie. 

But never the twain shall meet, right? Au contraire mon ami.

Rewind two weeks. Browns are playing Thursday night… prime-time baby… awesome Cleveland weather (no, that’s not an oxymoron) and I am GO-ING. Woof! Woof!

A guy “friend” with season tickets asked me to go. Fourteenth row seats, might I add. He asked me to several “datey” kinda things, of which I declined every one due to the “date” nature of said invites. I had a boyfriend for a while and he seemed to respect that although he made it clear that if that situation changed he would like a “shot.” Well, I guess that target opened up… single… again.

I made it crystal before going to the game that I was “only interested in friendship.” Said it was mutual. Coolio.

Now mind you, this was the same guy that asked my opinion on some swim trunks a while back for a cruise he was going on. Sure. No problem. Imagine my surprise when I received 3 pictures of him modeling his beach attire. Let’s just say those pics did not get deposited into the Spank Bank.

The excitement to go to my first Thursday night game numbed my apprehension. I was honest and upfront with him.

Friends. Agreed. Nothing more to say than, "Here we go Brownies, here we go."

Pregame tailgating. Check. Food. Drinks. Check. Check. So far, so good.

Game time! 

I’ve been to a lot of Browns games, this by far ended up being the best game I have ever attended. The energy of an evening game. Exciting plays. And a big fat “W” at the end, 37 – 24 against the Bills.

Barring all that was dawgilicious about this amazing and exhilarating Browns win, my non-date was beginning to feel like anything but. Passes and penalties were abounding… not on the field… in the stands.

Underhand pass to my elbow. Flag on the play. False start.

Shovel pass to my shoulder. Flag on the play. Illegal motion.

Backhand pass to my lower back. Flag on the play. Holding.

Shuffle pass to my “I just want to be friends” handles. Not, not, not “love” handles. I was clear… friendship… only. Flag on the play. Illegal use of the hands.

Whoa, more passes flying around than I got with my last boyfriend.

I was lifted off my feet several times with a celebratory hug. Really, a high five would have sufficed. At one point the lift paralleled a pairs skating duo move. Dude. This is football and we are not on a date. Get with the program.

Not withstanding the barrage of yellow flags now at my feet, this seemingly very successful and intelligent man was loosing those attributes with each tick of the game clock.

Some girl stories being thrown in there amidst flags. Even going as far as showing me texts. Caveating his attempts to draw out my green-eyed monster by saying he doesn’t want me to be uncomfortable? Why would I care? I look quite lovely in green, but I won’t be donning my best emeralds or jades on your account. Sorry.

As if Mr. Handsy wasn’t bad enough, enter Mr. Cocky. Bragging. Flat out arguing with me about different subjects. Which, eh um, I was RIGHT. 100% correct. Beyond riled up, I just backed down and let that dog lie even though I wanted to BITE. Grrrrrr. I was not going to win that battle. Mr. Know-It-All knows it all. The Browns won, but I was not going to.

Several times whilst trying to add emphasis to a point, he’d end it with “How’s that?” Said as if he reverted back to Kindergarten. Excited because he was able to relate point “A” to point “B.” Connect the dots. So proud of himself, yet still needing the approval from the teacher. Yeah for you. Now it’s naptime. “How’s that?”

Coddling is always well received by a grown ass woman, as well, right? Wrong. Confident in our beliefs and opinions, we state them clearly. Yes? YES. For example, “I only want to be friends.” Damn, if I didn’t really mean that. And when I say “I like football,” damn if I really didn’t mean that, too. If one more time it was echoed “you really do like football,” in conjunction with a wild-eyed and bewildered look, someone was going to get chop blocked. Flag on the play. Penalty this time, my own. The grabbing and holding my hand while walking the downtown streets, certainly was a slick move by Mr. Handsy but also had a strong air of someone wanting to help me across the street. “Stop, Look and Listen before you cross the street.” Thank you Crossing Guard, but I mastered that lesson a long time ago. I got this. The fourth and long Hail Mary pass.

Cue the Benny Hill anthem again. That theme music is all too appropriate as this night and nonsense was approaching comedic levels. “Mah Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na. Mah Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na.” Great game. Terrible “date” that was never even a date to begin with.

So girls and guys out there alike, if someone tells you, “I only want to be friends.” Believe them. Seriously. Any interpretation or reading between the lines of that very simple and straightforward sentence, might get you a personal foul infraction of “Unsportsmanlike Conduct.”

How’s that?!?!

Let's go Brownies! Let's go! Woof! Woof! Let's keep the bad passes to a minimum, shall we?