I chose footy over a post-coital cuddle. Farting in bed would have unleashed less fury

My girlfriend and I had just reconnected when I said the worse thing I could in that situation.

Rory Gibson.

The path to relationship harmony is, as we all know, littered with obstacles.

Some loom large and are easily avoided. Others are like bindis – prickly, profanity-inducing and you never see them until it’s too late.

About this time last year, at the crunch end of the NRL season, I landed in deep bindi because I’m a devoted Cowboys fan.

They were playing a match they had to win to stay in contention for the finals. Unfortunately, kick-off coincided with the arrival of my girlfriend for a weekend visit.

We don’t live in the same postcode so there’s always a tinge of absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder enthusiasm in our reunions, leading to you-know-what shortly after the suitcase is thrown in the corner of the bedroom.

On this occasion though, time was of the essence.

The Cowboys were fighting for survival and needed me on the couch.

To get there I had to conclude the conjugal elements of my welcome-to-country ceremony with haste disguised as ardour, then attain an early release from the mandatory post-coital cuddle. I thought if I executed the former with admirable effort the latter could be safely negotiated. How wrong I was.

As far as I could tell I got a pass with distinction for step one, which emboldened me to tackle the dangerous step two.

I gave the cuddle phase a solid minute then asked gently in a loving tone: “Honey, would you mind if I go and watch the footy?”

If I had farted in bed I could not have unleashed more fury. The Cowboys were abandoned to fend for themselves while I fought to save the relationship. I won’t say the Cowboys’ failure to make the finals hinged on this incident, but neither will I say it’s just a coincidence.

Fast forward to last week. The circumstances are eerily similar, except I’ve arrived at her place. The Cowboys are, yet again, fighting to keep their season alive … but for the sake of self-preservation I push aside any thoughts of getting to watch the game. It was also week two of the Rugby Championship. My girl is a Kiwi, so as we walked hand-in-hand to the bedroom I said, “I wonder how the All Blacks are going against Argentina.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “What, the All Blacks are playing now? Let’s watch the end of that first.” Back we marched to the couch.

I’ll keep that one up my sleeve for next season.