I never thought I would say the phrase, “Watching sports is fun”. I normally hate sports guys, you know who you are. Usually, you’re the guy watching the game on the television at a bar at ten in the morning and I’m the girl sipping a Bloody Mary at the end of the bar still wearing last nights cocktail dress with a killer hangover. I hear the jock wannabe’s yelling at the television while my head is splitting open. These times of my life I remember with disgust and disdain as I hold my head in shame. Not shame for me, shame that some guy would be so committed to his favorite sports team. I mean come on, if you were this committed to your job or your girlfriend, I’m sure you’d be richer and married. And by the way, as you tell me to be quiet during the fifth inning, remember that Derek Jeter isn't going to be sucking your cock when the game is over and guess what, I’m not going to be either.

With that being said, I wrote a previous column about bad dates. Now I had a great one. I met Dylan at the gym. He’s a personal trainer with a great body and smile to boot. He asks me out and I decided to take him up on his offer. Then he hits me with this, “Let’s go to a hockey game. I have box seats” Huh? I once broke my arm playing hockey, on Playstation. I'm not a sports person at all but I was somewhat interested in the idea. This to me defies convention. Something off the cuff for a first date in Los Angeles had me excited. He then told me that there was a restaurant where you could watch the game with food and cocktails. I can get drunk and watch hot guys beat themselves up on ice? Cool.

We go to the Kings game and the restaurant was nicer then expected. I had sushi and a mandarin martini. After the third drink, we took our seats and after the fifth drink, I was yelling, “What the fuck are you doing! You pussy!” Being at sporting events and yelling is not only accepted it’s encouraged. I can yell and not be thrown out? Man, sports are fun!

A few dates later, Dylan takes me to Sunday Football. I can’t get over that I'm going to a place called The Shack in Santa Monica. He’s an Eagle fan and I’m tagging along for the fun, or the beer, or umm…never mind. As we walk into the crowded bar, I notice everyone and I mean EVERYONE is wearing something Eagles. A hat, a jersey, a t-shirt, it was a sea of rowdy green. I haven’t seen commitment like this since, well, ever. I’m kind of astounded that people feel this much love for a group of people they have probably never met, never talked to, they are not friends or family. This room is filled with love for this team and I let it engulf me in some strange but good way.

We take our seats and everyone is yelling at the screens, “Get the ball McNabb!”, “What’s the deally A.J Feely!” ”You’re a fucking pussy!” or my favorite, “Kill him!” After a pitcher of beer, I’m yelling too and before I know it, I’m excited. Maybe it’s the vibe of the game, maybe it’s Dylan wearing a kind of tight gray t shirt that showed off those pecs or the beer, but I was having fun! After the game, I take Dylan home for the after party of two. The Eagles didn’t win that night, but Dylan scored a touchdown on my playing field. This Sunday another game is going to be played. I might go down a few beers and hear the roaring from the bar crowd as Dylan grabs my leg as the team scores a touchdown. All the while I will be thinking, the real games begin when we get back to my place.

So what do you guys think? Are sports a new aphrodisiac? Are they the pre game to the Super Bowl in the bedroom? Please respond with your stories. Ladies are you jaded by the game? Fellas, would you rather down a cold one then dance with a warm hottie? I need your input here before I run to the NFL store and buy all the Eagles jerseys in stock.