It is a scream of pure agony. "AAAAAWWWWWW. NOOOOOOOO. No no no no no!!"

Yep, it's football season again.

And once again, my husband is a passionate fan: whooping and hollering during a Big Game. And, far as I can tell, they're all Big Games.

Understand. This is a man who thinks a one-syllable grunt qualifies as laughter.

This is a man who, when I arrive home wearing a hot, new outfit (NON-MATERNITY, mind you) says one word: "Nice."

But when USC scores a touchdown? It's "YES! YES! SWEEEEEEET! HA HA HA!"

There is fist pumping, leaping off the couch, hand clapping, knee slapping.

I could get my hair done, do my nails, cook the dinner and all he'd say would be: "Nice." Or if he's feeling really expressive: "You look nice." Good thing I learned early that life is unfair.

Still, I like watching football. Mostly because I like to watch him. It's like watching mild-mannered Clark Kent transform into Superman. Minus the cape.

When the San Diego Chargers lost to Denver last weekend, I did not recognize the man.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Whadda you mean?" he said, opening the fridge for a snack.

"AAAAAUGGGGH! NOOOOOOO!" I yelled, imitating his exact yells.

He chuckled. "I'm a man," he said. "You'll never understand."

I may not understand, but I am fascinated.

It's gonna be an awesome season. FIGHT ON, TROJANS!