Phil just called. I didn’t pick up.

Poor Phil. He’s such a sweet guy.

He did all the right things – technically – that a man should do on a first date. He opened doors, he bought me a rose, he was polite and he insisted on paying for dinner. He was interested in my career aspirations and he spoke emphatically about his love for everything movies.

Little did Phil know, I went out with him based on the inferred connection we made over sports at the bar a week earlier. We mostly talked about how much fun it is to go to a baseball game and that we should go to one together. Then I babbled on about football, my Michigan State Spartans, SportsCenter and God only knows what else. Phil nodded and smiled, giving the occasional verbal confirmation. Sure, he seemed a little soft around the edges, but he was fairly well spoken and expressed a mild interest in mildly interesting things, so I agreed to a date.

The next Saturday, Phil called me during the Michigan State, Wisconsin game. When I picked up, I was in the middle of clicking absentmindedly between TV stations, systematically avoiding the game. MSU was losing and I subscribe to the theory that if I turn the channel, they’ll start winning again. In the event of a loss, I always blame myself.

“Hey, it’s Phil. How are you?”

“I’m good,” I lied. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, just watching some football.”

“Are you? Which game?”

“Wisconsin, Michigan State.”

“Oh yeah?” I sat up. What a turn on. “Are we still losing? I can’t bear to watch.”

“No no. You’re up – 24 to 21.”

Talk dirty to me, Phil.

I decided then and there, THIS was going to be a good date. Sure MSU ended up losing, which ruined my whole day, but I made sure I was looking tight and right that evening. I even made my bed – a rarity.

I was horrified when Phil showed up at my apartment 15 minutes early. My hair and make-up were asunder and I had yet to put on those blue and gold peep-toe stilettos I save for special circumstances. I mean, he watched MSU on his own accord – clearly we were meant to be.

And then I answered the door.

Call me shallow – I’m fine with that – but I couldn’t help but think, “How drunk was I at that bar?” This kid looked just like my brother.

It’s not that Phil (or my brother) is physically unattractive, it’s that he’s stylized to the degree of a production assistant, not a coaching assistant – which is cool, but not for me. Nonetheless, I set my initial reservations aside – along with my special occasion stilettos – and we headed out for the classic dinner and a movie.

“Weren’t we supposed to go to a Dodgers game?” I joked as we walked to his car. “It’s the end of the season, you know.”

“Oh… yeah… I uhh, was having trouble finding a schedule,” he replied.

Trouble finding a schedule? In the age of the Internet?

Questionable.

Our date consisted of less talk about baseball or the day’s football happenings, and more about some tearjerker of a screenplay he wanted me to read that was, “like Donny Darko meets the Muppets.” And as I sat across from him under the quasi-romantic twinkle lights of Paco’s Tacos, it occurred to me that he may have only watched the Michigan State game to turn me on.

Now, it’s in my breadth of experience that men will say or do just about anything to impress a woman – splaying their colorful tail feathers with brains, brawn and the ever-important sense of humor. But never in my encounters have I come across a man who used sports as a tactic.

Tactics I have seen before:

1) Bar brawls (…pathetic)
2) Aloofness (…obnoxious)
3) Shaven forearms (…gross)

But never sports. That’s something I’ve only seen men strain to conceal.

“Wanting a guy that’s into sports isn’t shallow,” said my buddy, Jensen, when I called to commiserate about my failed date with Phil. “If that’s something that’s important to you, it’s legit.”

Of course, an interest in sports isn’t the most important attribute to me when it comes to attraction, but it’s probably well situated in the Top 10.

I can’t help it. I’m a product of my Freudian environment.

I was raised in the pomp and circumstance of university-town living, and my dad was as hilarious and uncouth on football Saturdays as any kid could hope for in a role model. In turn, as I grew up, all of my ex-boyfriends were athletes and/or sports fanatics to the point – at times – of delirium.

But they are my EX’s for a reason, and it’s because of that pattern that I decided to date someone who seemed a little less athletic and little more, I don’t know, artsy fartsy. But as I sipped on my Dos Equis and he on his Coke, it became clear to me that I could probably take Phil in a fight. And no girl wants to feel like that about her date.

“There’s a certain level of manliness that comes with watching sports,” said Jensen. “Is that prejudiced and sexist to say about men? Sure. Am I prejudiced and sexist? Sure.”

I’m not suggesting Phil isn’t a man – quite the opposite, in fact. Phil is just like every other man who woos and bamboozles women, finagling dates based on a fictional mutual interest.

The heart wants what the heart wants… it just so happens my heart wants to talk about the way Vince Young throws a football.

I’m afraid Phil can’t hang.

Poor Phil.