The Worst Expat Ever

It is Sunday night at 11:24. I am waiting for the popcorn to finish (on the stove.. it takes a bit longer but is definitely the way to go!) before I drive to my friend’s house, maybe the most knowledgeable Englishman I know at the great sport that is American Football.

It is also nearly 11:30pm and the game has started and I don’t even know which teams are in the Superbowl tonight.

I know.

My cousins will be hating me. Brittney down in Somerset, my wonderful American friend who has kept more of her traditions than I have will gasp.. but it’s true.

I am a terrible expat!

I have not seen a Superbowl in more years than I can remember. (Is it 3 or 4 now?) I don’t remember the last one I stayed up and finished. Maybe my first year in Newcastle 6 years ago?

But I understand the game for the most part. I am ignoring all the British banter at how it is not a sport, or not “football” because you don’t use your feet. And when I am missing something, there is always Mark my honourary American (English) friend who we should just give him a passport for all of his study and effort. Kinda like those people who get honourary university degrees.

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