Sorry, but I don’t really like sports (or feigning interest in them to get a guy’s attention). If a guy likes football more than me, I’d rather he have football. I can’t relate.

There are instances, though, when sports and love collide, and I have to put my game face on and pretend like I know what I’m doing. A relationship is a sport. Sometimes it’s an all - out WWE power struggle, but mostly, it’s like a game of tennis. The metaphorical ball is constantly traveling from one side of the court to another, with the balance of power tipping in either direction.

In the beginning, the guy usually has the ball, and I’m weak - kneed on the other side waiting for his next move. But as things progress, the ball slowly moves to me. Not that I’m necessarily comfortable with this position. When I have the ball, he’s all nice and sweet, harking to my every need to regain his stance. It’s uncomfortable. I’m not competitive by nature, and l know he’s going to get the ball back somehow — by not calling, looking at another girl or some other stupid play.

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