Mr. September

So we're back here again, this time of year again. And no, I don't mean back to school. Towards the end of the summer, the Phillies started doing what they now seem to do towards the end of every summer; they started playing well, really well. After one of those wins, my husband turned to me and said, "You know what this means, right? You can count me out for September". Right. So we're back here again. Here, where almost every night is game night and my husband belongs to Mr. September, not to me. Where he has way more time for his team than for me. Where he hears every word the announcers say, and zero of what I say. I get it, but it seems like we just left here in June when we said good-bye to Lord Stanley's Cup.

Don't get me wrong, I am a Phillies Phan. And I truly am a Philadelphia fan. I would never dream of rooting for another city's team, even when I lived there for years and while they made it to the World Series - sorry Giants. But really, I have to ask, does my husband really think he has any impact on the team by watching every second of every game? Does he really think the Phillies won the World Series because he watched the same TV, from the same spot, on the same couch, wearing the same shirt for each win? I already know the answer to this, and that is the root of my complaint. Just like I'm certain none of the Philadelphia franchise teams can hear him cheering or swearing at them through the TV, they also don't even know he's watching. So really, I don't think they'd mind if he took his eyes off the game for one minute to actually listen to something I have to say.

But, I know how this goes. Its September and the Phillies are ahead. I also know how this story should go, and unfortunately for me, my husband should have added, "You can also count me out for October". And then I'm sure we'll see where the Eagles are.