The football dummy
See, I loved football but for all the wrong reasons. Like we both screamed when we had a goal but I was screaming more for the scorer than the score. The way his athletic feet curved under the ball, the way his face chiseled right before the attack, the way he thumped his chest in slow motion after a perfect strike. I may be a football dummy but baby I know all about scoring goals.
I have watched the crowd come alive too many times. I have seen the adrenaline rush, the miscalculated hasty celebration that comes too soon and then the sudden roar of a contented crowd. Trust me I know all about scoring goals and right now you ain’t scoring any. Like when you chuck me out of your zone but I come right back in with a corner kick.
Baby this feels like replay, I have been here before and I know when you are playing dirty. Like that time you thought a dirty tackle would give you control. So you are the smart ass but I am the one who hands over the yellow card. You have been warned because right now your love feels like a foul. Yes, I fancy being wild, and for a moment you leave your teeth marks on my neck. I think you learned that from Suarez but I will let it slide this time. Baby when it is time for a red card you’ll know.
See, I love a boy who loves football, and when he sets his mind to it, I become the substitute lover. I’m always waiting for him to let me in but he shuts me out every time. I begin to feel pain, so I’m like Spain. Like a defending champion I try too hard to retain my place. Sometimes my efforts are worth nothing, so like Spain I lose. Yes he betrays my feelings but he is no Diego Costa, look what that cost him.
Our love feels like a poor game of nothing but unsuccessful runs, obstructions, penalties, clumsy control and time wasting tactics. But sometimes, he loves me to death when he sends me those flying kisses in a room full of people. He’s my superhero but I can’t call him my Flying Dutchman because that is already taken. I am no Loise Lane, Superman is taken too.
Then without warning he attacks with a headbutt and sends me right back to the ICU where they try to fix our love with band aids and bitter syrup. Yes, I am the football dummy but so is he when he asks for extra time to score a late goal and make things right. Reality check, I made you captain of my team but you dribbled like an amateur and wasted too many free passes. With your mediocre defense for our love, you let me down seven times even when I thought you could do better. Like we all thought Brazil could do better but all we got was bitter. But I’m not gonna shed a tear because now you are the one sitting on the bench like a substitute lover.