Heart of steel

I follow football the way most women do. There's a direct corolation between my allegience to a team and the man in my life.

Start with my dad and, having grown up in Charlottesville, the Redskins and UVa. Then college, a boy from Virginia who's family moved to Chapel Hill -- the then-new Panthers and, again, UVa.

Then college later, a boy from New York who went to Virginia -- the Bills (I actually braved a game in December in upstate New York for that guy...or did I do that for the hot dogs?) and still, UVa.

Then an artsy fartsy guy who hated football, so I chose my own team -- the Packers -- because Brett Favre was and is hot hot hot. Of course, good ol dad still loved UVa so I did, too.

Then I think there was a bit of a drought. That must have been an introspective time.

Next a guy who didn't much like football, but all of his friends did and for some reason they were Raiders fans. So... so was I (I always thought their uniforms morbid). And, most certainly, UVa.

Don't think me shallow. I had a real pro football loyality battle going on inside.

But sticking with one pro team would have meant that I would at some point have to explain to boyfriend number 15 that boyfriend number 12 was a Panthers, Bills, Raiders fan. And that would have been relationship suicide and a definate end to some very nice, very free dinners. So I flip flopped. No one seemed to mind.

Until I met my husband, who is a Pittsburgh Steelers fan. He's devoted to me. He's devoted to the Steelers. His mind, I believe, draws no distinction.

My football infidelity is a thing of the past. I love him, I watch the Steelers and I most certainly make no mention of how cute Tom Brady is. Especially not this season.

I first suspected my Steeler-liking might not be a passing fancy when I caught myself waving a yellow terrycloth towel over my head and obeying my husband and brother-in-law's silly, superstitious rules about what I could and couldn't do during Steeler game time. (No leaving the room when they're on a good streak. Don't let the towel touch the floor. Only one cookie per quarter).

I also suspected it when I could name the team's last three quarterbacks.

But on Sunday, I knew I'd fallen in love. On Sunday, I forewent my usual Sunday routine of cleaning and yogaing and grocery shopping to sit useless on the couch and watch the Steelers play. Alone. Just me and the dog and my at times very amplified voice. I didn't even have to give myself a manicure for distraction.

This was my own doing. A choice I made. My husband was on another continent in another time zone -- probably asleep.

On the way to the airport Sunday morning, he divided his time between telling me how lonesome he'd be without me and telling me how much he hated to miss the Steelers-Pats game. I understood. It was a big game.

I waved goodbye and almost immediately forgot about football.

But then, the Redskins lost. I knew that the Redskins lost because I briefly turned on the television to get election news. I cared that the Redskins lost because when the Redskins lose on the Sunday before the election day, it means the incumbent in the national election is going to lose. And that was good news.

On that brief high, I remembered the Steelers. I manipulated the remote and found it. Steelers-Patriots. Maybe I'd watch a little. I had time. Yoga didn't start for.... 30 minutes.

Two hours later, I was drinking beer and whooping at the television. I didn't have the towel, but I didn't know that. Hands in the air, the wave, yelling dooooo-ssssssssss, obeying all the stupid rules.

The Steelers were winning. They were winning big. They had run backs and touchdowns and sacks and steals and challenges and fieldgoals -- all the good stuff. I settled down when they had a 21-3 lead, and I realized I'd turned a corner.

There alone in my living room, I became a fan. For better or for worse, I would stick with this team. Things wouldn't always be this good, I knew. We wouldn't always break the Patriots lots-of-games winning streak. There were going to be rough roads. Fumbles. Bad choices. Losing seasons.

But I'd be there, waving my towel and shouting. Even if I was completely alone.

Go Steelers.