Click and Tell: Gotta Get Down on Friday: A Fantasy (Football) First Date



Moby is a great guy to have a drink with any day but Friday. (Photo Illustration by Sara Azoulay/The Observer)


“I will be wearing something ridiculous, to be explained later,” is the text I receive after confirming plans with my date for Friday night. Just when I start getting comfortable with meeting strangers off the Internet, I get an ominous text message like that to throw me off my game, supposing that I actually had any “game” in the first place. My mind races through the most embarrassing possibilities; mascot costume and male bondage outfit top the list.

Moby is a great guy to have a drink with any day but Friday. (Photo Illustration by Sara Azoulay/The Observer)

My horror peaks at the thought that I might find myself on a date with another actor. His dating profile reads like a Man vs. Wild episode list, definitely one of those granola-munching, nature types (reference Dr. Gehman’s Field Guide). He looks kind of like Moby after raiding a Patagonia store, which I find oddly attractive. I will admit that I’m a little more Queens Boulevard than Appalachian Trail, but I remain optimistic about our date.

I suggested we meet at a specialty beer bar just down the street, mostly to combat my penchant for lateness but also because most guys love beer and I had planned on impressing him by throwing around words like “microbrew” and “hoppy.” There are about 20 beer taps on the wall and a long list at the bar, so I refer to my mental storage system of beer knowledge. Bud Light and Blue Moon are not on the menu, so I just order something with a funny name. I see my date—I will call him Moby—walk in and take off his coat, and that’s when I see it: a t-shirt printed with a creepy picture of Rebecca Black and the words to her lyrical masterpiece, “Friday.” I can’t help but laugh, especially since I had been bracing myself for a spelunking outfit. I sip my arbitrarily chosen yet delicious beverage while he explains himself.

He had, of course, lost a bet with his fantasy football buddies, and the worst in the league is forced to wear this t-shirt every Friday for an entire year. RED FLAG! Moby is a victim of a widespread cult known as fantasy football that is targeting males of all demographics all over the country at alarming rates. As if guys really need an excuse to watch more football in the first place, now they can put even more of their time and money into managing an imaginary team. Got to love the Internet.

He rattles off some football figures as my attention wanders to the wall of beer taps and I decide to choose my next beer based on the prettiest handle. I nod emphatically while he curses Michael Vick and in my head I try to figure out what team he’s even talking about.

The conversation turns to books, as he is majoring in literature, and he mentions one or two of my favorites. He is well-read without being a douchebag about it, which is a rare balance, and I start to like him.

After finishing our first round, he offers to buy my next beer. Ten points! He says sarcastically, “I figure I should pay, since I’m in grad school just rolling around in cash.” His delivery is bitter and the points are immediately revoked. If I wanted a sugar daddy I certainly wouldn’t pick a literature major. He seems to know a lot about beer, so I let him order for me. He gets the bartender’s attention and greets him with a casual “Howdy.” What? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word seriously spoken in my life, but then again, I’ve never travelled through the West in a covered wagon.

He continues to order me a Jasmine IPA, which happens to be the most delicious libation to have ever passed my lips. I am reluctant to grant him any points after his snarky comment, but the beer was definitely worth a solid 20. The bar gets crowded and we decide to find another place down the street. It’s raining outside and we’re both immediately soaked. He cracks a joke about his hair-do being ruined, a little self-deprecating humor from a bald man, and I feel a little bit better about looking like a wet dog on our first date. At the next bar, I buy us a round, not because of his sarcastic comment about money, but because I’m having a good time with this guy. After the drink, I decide to call it an early night. I might be interested in seeing him again, but I’ve already made it clear that I will be busy every Friday for the rest of the year.

Total points: 20

Should I go on a second date? Leave your comments below.