There are a few simple rules every guy abides by, no matter how big a pain in the ass they may be. You always finish a plate of chicken wings, even when you’re fairly certain you’ll set off a nuclear stink bomb soon thereafter. You never, ever, ever leave an unfinished beer on the table, lest you want to be known universally as a woman.

You always blame your girlfriend when you both suddenly develop lip and/or genital sores. And most of all, by any means necessary, you never let your significant other find out about your secret love affair with football.

Well, rules are meant to be broken. And it’s only fair that my girlfriend of over five years knows that she’s been sharing my heart with someone – or should I say something – else. Lauren, meet football. Football, this is Lauren. I’ve been seeing you both for quite some time now and I can’t go on with this dark cloud of secrecy any longer.

Lauren, every Saturday when you think I’m off working with underprivileged kids, I’m really chugging watered-down beer and scarfing brats as I stumble my way into the stadium for college football. You know that obnoxiously drunk guy with the full-body paint that you laughed at on TV? Yeah… that was me. I had the underprivileged kids apply the paint. Don’t worry… I paid them a nickel each.

Oh, by the way, I’m not just seeing one team. I’ve got a pro squad, too.

Lauren, meet the New York Jets. Every Sunday, when I tell you I’m giving speeches on astrophysics, I’m really at the bar working on my remedial spelling as I scream J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS. Yes, the same bar I tried to take you to for our anniversary. When you get past the 20 plasma TVs and 30 fat guys belching every 10 seconds, it’s really a romantic setting. Trust me.

Now let me put this out there, honey. I feel awful for lying to you. But, come on! I can barely pronounce astrophysics, let alone tell you what it’s about. You’d have to be as dimwitted as Sarah Palin to think I was anywhere but the bar. I mean, it’s not like I don’t walk in every Sunday afternoon reeking of beer and hot wing sauce, with pieces of cheese fries checkered throughout my teeth.

And football, let me say I’m sorry for not introducing you to Lauren earlier. She’s not your biggest fan, but it’s not like she’d go all Naomi Campbell on your ass.

That brings me to my final thought. I’m a mere mortal man, which means I have one goal and one goal only – to have a threesome. So, Laur, football… whaddya say? Can we make this happen? I’ll gladly sit on the sidelines and just watch, if that’s what it takes…