Chuck, I am in a quandary.
For a while I thought I had found a man who truly put me first - a kind, thoughtful soul who really loved me for me.
But after a while, I realised that I was not his true love - that place in his heart is reserved for Chelsea FC. My first place on the ladder of his heart was only during the off-season.
I came to this realisation on my birthday, when he told me that he had organised a birthday cake for me at home. Excited, I left the gathering we were at and headed home. There was no cake. There was a football match on the TV. I went to bed.
Should I put up with being second best, in return for the good times? Or should I look for the elusive dating gem - the sportless man?
Desperate Football Widow
According to everyone's favourite online source of wisdom - Wikipedia:
The Chelsea Football Club had their first major success in 1955, winning the league championship. Chelsea won several cup competitions during the 1960s and 1970s, but after that did not win another major title until 1997. The past decade has been the most successful period in Chelsea’s history, capped by winning consecutive Premier League titles in 2005 and 2006, and reaching their first UEFA Champions League final in 2008, losing to fellow English side Manchester United after extra time and penalties.
Now, have you ever stopped to consider that your boyfriend recognised his beloved club had been in a success drought over the years and he was making hay while the sun shone so to speak??
Or perhaps he is just a dick.
In Chuck Long's esteemed opinion, sport plays a very important part in most men's lives. It is an outlet, a bonding tool, a hobby and a passion. Balanced, normal blokes are able to juggle their interest in sport while maintaining meaningful relationships and holding down steady jobs.
Unbalanced selfish knobs lie to their girlfriends on their birthday in order to go home and watch their teams on TV.
Pulling that stunt at the best of times is a weak performance. Dropping it on your birthday is grounds for instant dismissal. Going to bed was the wrong move, you should have started packing your belongings (and anything of value of his) and made for the door, being sure to wish the Chelsea Football Club luck the next time he asks for his salad to be tossed.