There’s a moment that will come along in your life when you realize that you’re not who you thought you were. It will stun you. It will scare you. It may well knock you off your feet.
“We HAVE to get season tickets next year!” I hear myself say.
“And I need you to teach me everything you know about soccer,” my voice continues.
Who am I?!
I. Do. Not. Like. Soccer. I do not like soccer. It’s boring. I hated playing it. They end games in ties. Ties! What kind of participation-trophy-everybody-wins-there’s-no-failure-if-you-try kind of sport is that?
I don’t just passively not like soccer. There’s no disinterested shoulder shrug from me when the topic comes up. No, I put serious effort into my dislike. I’ve got the teenage girl eye roll down pat and I employ it to emphasize my well-thought out dissertation on why soccer sucks. The fake injuries. *eye roll* The ties! *eye roll* Those ridiculous vuvu-whatevers. Ugh!
As it turns out, the lady doth protest too much.
Stupid silly soccer, stupid silly Sounders, I think I might just love you.
What is happening to me?!