Yet another Super Bowl Sunday has come and gone, and I have a confession to make. I don’t know who played, or even where they played, and I definitely don’t know who won. I couldn’t possibly care less.
I don’t know why it almost feels like this is a shameful secret that I should do my best to keep to myself, but it always has. To hear most people tell it, a disinterest in sports is un-American. I’m already perceived as being weird, so I try to avoid adding more evidence to the steaming pile of strangeness.
Do I think of my football aversion as an autistic thing? Not really. No two autistic people are alike, just as no two neurotypicals are alike. I’m quite sure that there are plenty of fanatics on the spectrum. Surely there are also people out there like me who prefer not to throw away their time, money, and diets on a game that will never love us back.
This aversion does pair well with my autism, though. I don’t have to deal with crowds. I can skip parties. I get to avoid people who are drinking and behaving unpredictably. I don’t have to hear the roar of the crowd. I don’t have to eat stuff that I would not normally eat. I look at these little side benefits as the frosting on top of my sports-free cake.
So why do I dislike football so much? Well, I could trot out a bunch of fun facts, such as the fact that Thanksgiving is the only day of the year when Americans consume more calories than they do on that fateful Sunday. Or that sports, in general, is yet another opportunity to divide ourselves into “us” and “them” in an already polarized world. And if the January 6th insurrection taught us nothing else, it was that Americans don’t need any further excuse to get rowdy and destructive.
I could talk about the obscene amounts of money spent to prop up this industry that benefits only a few. I might mention that a certain percentage of our youth get irreversible brain injuries mainly because they want to be one of the popular kids on the football team or cheer leading squad, rather than be sidelined in their toxic pursuit of popularity.
I could say that Super Bowl Sunday shines a spotlight on American excess, entitlement, and self-indulgence. The average NFL football player makes 2.7 million dollars a year. According to this article, the average worker on this planet makes less than $18,000 a year. So this day that so many Americans look forward to is just another snotty American way of letting the world eat cake.
It has often been said that watching this violent sport, and mixing that with alcohol, goes hand in hand with an annual spike in domestic violence against women. But it would be impossible to know if that’s true, because most domestic violence goes unreported. And perhaps we should focus more on the fact that there should never be domestic violence on any day of the year. Never.
But here’s the whole truth: I don’t like football because I don’t like football. That is all that needs to be said. I shouldn’t have to justify my opinion by explaining that I find it boring or exhausting or whatever. I also don’t like lima beans, but no one seems to care about that.
I’m learning so much about myself lately. After what feels like a lifetime of seeking approval and attempting to justify my choices, the fact that I’m learning to embrace my many unique qualities is a refreshing change. So if you, too, are indifferent toward football, come sit by me. I’m that woman who just dove head first into the guacamole.
Now is the perfect time to stay at home and read a good book. Try mine! http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5
The View from a Drawbridge 
Another asportual here! Never felt ashamed. I did go downstairs to our building’s party for a short while, but concentrated on the potato chips.
If no 2 people thought to be “on the spectrum” are alike, maybe it’s time for some new spectra.
You had me at potato chips. And as far as the spectrum goes, it’s such a relief to be on it, you have no idea. While I may not be 100% like anybody else, which is the case for All humans if you think about it, at least now I feel like I’m not alone for the first time in my life, and that’s a huge comfort.
I’ll sit with you next year and we can watch the puppy bowl. I’m not thrilled about any spectator sport, but at least humanity has advanced beyond gladiator colosseum mentality. Though not far enough. As for justifying myself, I used to explain my reasoning in such detail it annoyed people who preferred seeing me through their uninformed assumptions. Clear accurate communication was so important to me because I felt misunderstood so often. Now I realize if someone has misjudged you, your words won’t change that. They have to make an effort to change the way they view you. Until then, all you can do is consistently be your true self without apology. I actually do care about your dislike of lima beans. Well, sufferin’ succotash! Maybe you just haven’t had them prepared right.😊 https://www.southernliving.com/recipes/best-ever-succotash-recipe… Before I went vegan I’d make this with baby limas, cream and Cholula Green Pepper Hot Sauce. You can pick out the limas though, and I won’t judge. I, myself, won’t eat plain limas .
Yes, when I think of all the time I’ve wasted trying to explain myself to deaf ears, it makes me sad. I could have used all that energy for good rather than wasting it on battles that could never be won. And I refuse to budge on the lima bean thing. You can’t make me. 🙂
Can I just say your title ‘My Dirty Little Secret’, borders on click bait. One was expecting something more provocative. 😮😱😲 I mean, where’s the dirty part? ( I can just imagine your face over this comment… 🙄) Hope you’re having a love 💟 filled day, with DH, in spite of my sass.
Funny you should mention clickbait. One of my most visited posts is not visited for the post itself but for the picture I attached, which is of 6 inch patent leather stiletto heels. It’s ironic because the post is actually about the horrible things we do to our bodies to be attractive. But I think it draws more pervs than actual readers. There are a lot of lonely frustrated people in this world, apparently.