Just A Fantasy  

Seven years ago last week, I met DH at a college fraternity party. Cliche, right? I saw him hanging out with a bunch of other football players I peripherally knew from around campus, and in my somewhat-inebriated state, came over to make polite conversation. I knew by the end of that night that he was the man I would marry.

DH, pumping up the crowd during a game
Fast forward two and a half years, to a different college campus hundreds of miles away from the first. I was now a graduate student earning my Masters in broadcasting, and DH was still playing collegiate football, although in a different shade of blue. When we chose our wedding date, we did so knowing full well we would not be able to take a honeymoon; DH was entering his senior season, and this was his chance to work hard, condition well, and hopefully impress some scouts. So, we spent a one night "mini-moon" in a spa hotel about 30 minutes from our first apartment, then focused our attention on getting DH as prepared as he could possibly be for the all-important season.

Two weeks in, an image that had, up til that point, only appeared in my nightmares happened on the football field. I was in the stands with DH's parents (who had flown in from out of town to see the game) when I saw the love of my life collapse into a heap at the bottom of the pile. I knew instantly he was hurt. As the coaches flocked to him, trainers evaluated him, and teammates assisted him off the field, I knew DH's dreams of playing on Sundays were over; they had, in that instant, become nothing more than college boy's fantasy.

Yes, I took a picture of DH just moments after his career-altering injury...

I've always been a huge fan of football. It's probably a huge reason why I was attracted to DH in the first place. So it killed me when he had to sit out half his senior season with a torn MCL, shredded meniscus, and sprained foot. It was excruciating to watch him hobble around our second-floor walk-up after undergoing off-season surgery. It was debilitating watching his back-up get drafted in the 5th round of the NFL draft that next spring, knowing that was my husband's spot on an NFL roster. But by far, the saddest moment-- or rather, the saddest moments have been been some of the smallest; watching football games with DH just about every Sunday for the past four seasons, knowing that he should be on the field, doing what he loves, but for a bum knee that still doesn't work quite right.

Because you see, today DH's involvement in the NFL is purely fantasy-- as in, fantasy football. After years of pittering around the house on Sundays, mumbling under his breath about what could have been, DH found a way to express all that pent up anger, frustration, resentment, sorrow he left on the field way back when. Sure, now he doesn't compete in the stadium, he faces off in battle online instead against far less ferocious opponents. He is brutally defeated by men who would have stared at DH in awe, or maybe in fear, just a few years ago (since leaving the game, my former offensive tackle has lost 90 pounds and looks more like a basketball than a football player). But, more importantly, he's found a way to once again enjoy the game that's given him so much.

DH & I at his senior game; the last time he'd ever set foot on the field (note his massive knee brace)
So these days, while I spend Sunday afternoons (during G's naps, of course!) in front of the TV, DH spends them in front of the computer, cheering on a bunch of players who I, frankly, have never even heard of (Lawrence Tynes, anybody?). It may not be the way he fantasized spending his weekends, but at least he's been able to make peace with his "dream deferred" (yes that is an intentional "Raisin In The Sun" reference).