Six Nations 2024 to Super Bowl: sports fans need so much emotional post match support - Gaby Soutar

The first thing I did on Monday morning was Google the Super Bowl score. I was praying the San Francisco 49ers had taken it home. Sadly, it wasn’t to be.

They’d been trumped by the Kansas City Chiefs, 25 to 22. My other half had gone to bed in the wee hours, after staying up late to watch the game.

His half empty bowl of nachos was sitting by the kitchen sink. I braced myself for when he woke up, since I knew he was going to be miserable. Again.

I often describe him as Scotland’s only American football fan, though I know it’s not strictly true. There must be at least two others out there.

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA - FEBRUARY 11: Brock Purdy #13 of the San Francisco 49ers warms-up before Super Bowl LVIII against the Kansas City Chiefs at Allegiant Stadium on February 11, 2024 in Las Vegas, Nevada. (Photo by Ezra Shaw/Getty Images)

He’s supported that NFL team since he was ten years old and he still hasn’t recovered from when they got as far as the Super Bowl, then lost, back in 2013 and 2020.

The last time they won was in 1995. We weren’t a couple then, so I never got to join a two person conga round the living room. It’s a shame that I’ve never seen him ebullient over the final result.

In the run up to the big game, I am rooting for them vicariously and I do enjoy hearing the occasional ‘woo hoo’ from the other room. There was none of that this week.

When he eventually got up in the late morning, he was as crumpled as the 49ers mascot Sourdough Sam after the costume had gone through the wrong washing machine cycle.

I commiserate and say all the right things, except I can’t resist my cheeky usual: “Why don’t you try supporting a different team next time?”

I say that a lot, just to bug him, and he always earnestly explains anyway, about how sports fans can’t just switch allegiance. It’s not like having a favourite chocolate brand. You’re in for the long haul. It’s like marriage really.

I know, I know. You lot are SO loyal. It’s sickening.

Sometimes I feel there is some pleasure in pain. For the rest of this week, he has been listening to his various sports podcasts, so he can hear them postmortem-ing the game, and they can all empathise and process the loss. It’s just so exhausting.

Although I don’t understand the appeal, there are many reasons why people love sport.

It’s the sense of belonging and being part of a tribe, the atmosphere and the drama, and it’s a forum to process feelings. I can’t say, when I recently saw the line of people heading to Murrayfield to watch the rugby, that I didn’t think it might be fun to tag along. Especially when they start singing and wear fancy dress. I can get on board with that.

Still, it’s a bit like religion, in that it’s all a bit daft, though it’s forbidden to say that out loud when you’re alongside a strict convert.

When it comes to watching live sport, I’ve only been to watch a bit. I went to rugby once, and an ice-hockey match, but I’m no good at standing in the cold. I want padded seats, and ushers that bring me cocktails and those little bowls of wasabi rice crackers. Only then would I ever consider fandom.

Whether you’ve been watching the highs and lows of American football or Six Nations rugby, sports lovers need lots of emotional coddling.

They are so often disappointed and us sports refuseniks are their crutches. We have to mop the tears when everything goes wrong.

As well as American football, my other half is a Tour de France fan. Both require lengthy periods camped in front of the telly. I feel like I am invested too, because I have to amuse myself, while he’s glued to the box.

Then there’s all the chat for me to endure. He doesn’t have pals who are into the same things, so I’m the only sounding board. I do attempt to tune in to what he’s telling me, but I’m a visual person and my brain isn’t interested in touchdowns, quarterbacks, offence and defence.

Then there’s the cycling confusion, in trying to work out who’s who in the peloton. Just, nah.

I’m equally rubbish at taking part. I recently tried Pickleball and it was brilliant fun, but I could practically feel my brain shrugging in my cranium, when it came to the convoluted rules. I suppose these aren’t necessary for survival, so they’re sifted out as extraneous fluff.

Although I never comprehend what’s going on, my husband did try to guilt trip me into watching this year's match. The Super Bowl is a family occasion in the US, he said, not a solo activity.

No chance. If you want that, then you should’ve married my mother, I replied. She mainly loves tennis and snooker, though she’s open to anything.

You pop her in front of a sport, she’s happy. In fact, I think it was probably my parents who put me off watching it on telly.

They’d spend vast swathes of our childhood summer holidays watching Wimbledon or golf. My sister and I thought it was a big waste of sunshine.

However, in contrast to my other half, mum doesn’t really support any individual player or team. Instead, she enjoys watching passively, without the huge emotional investment. I think they’d enjoy watching together.

So, yes, I shall arrange for them to be betrothed.

Instead of a bouquet, he’s welcome to throw a football. Touchdown!