The nuclear weapon option among insults in Mark’s and my relationship means me turning to Mark to say “Oh, did you hear that CPFC played 3-1 against Man U?” If my man hasn’t heard the results, doing that is practically grounds for divorce.

Sochi 2014: Solidarity with love, not hate.
Sochi 2014: Solidarity with love, not hate. (Photo credit: jontangerine)

I’ve done it once, and that time I didn’t intend to, but I learned what would ruin Mark’s sports day, and so I’m careful. But I wanted to tell you this to illustrate that the love of my life is a sports nut. To him, spoiling a game is serious business. He will turn off radios, and the internet, and the entire world so that he won’t hear results prematurely.

Today that somewhat infamous game in Sochi started, and I was as usual careful about saying anything about what I’d heard. When Mark came home, he did his usual routine: put the school bag in the little wardrobe in the downstairs hall, went in the kitchen to check the fridge, and then asking about my day and so. The usual.

It’s our half-hour reconnection thing, where we have a meal after school, and then we do the homework or play computer games, or in his case watch sports on the telly. Like, say, the opening of the Olympic Games of 2014. Except he made no move to go and watch it.

“You’re going to miss the opening,” I say to him. To which he replies rather bluntly. “Fuck Sochi. I’m not going to support that shit.” So, I’m pretty proud of him at the moment. Mark is much more resolutely political than I am, so his stance doesn’t surprise me, but for him to forgo the entire Winter Olympics is a bit over the top. But he really doesn’t want to give his little impression of support to these particular games, no matter how much he loves sport. And that makes me warm and fuzzy inside. Isn’t my man the absolute best?

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