It's Monday night and my wife is lying beside me on our couch, watching television.  At about 9:50, I glance in her direction and am pleased to see her snoozing.  By "pleased," I mean "delighted," "ecstatic," and "jumping for joy."

You see, when she falls asleep, it feels like I've staged a coup d'état.  All of a sudden, I'm in total control of the TV.  I'm the president of programming, the chief of channel selection, the ruler of the remote.

On this night, the coup is nothing short of momentous -- worthy of a celebratory dance around the coffee table -- for it means I can watch Monday Night Football.  I can spend a few hours rooting for the New York Jets, just as I've spent the previous few hours rooting for sleepiness to set in.

I try to watch the game calmly and quietly, making no sudden movements that might awaken my wife and cause her to quash the coup.

I pray that Dennis Miller, the comedian-turned-commentator, won't say something so funny that I burst into laughter, bringing my football watching to a premature end.

I don't want to hear this from the TV: "It's first and goal at the nine yard line.  One second left in the game.  Testaverde throws into the end zone and ... (click) ... Next on C-Span, celebrated author Salman Rushdie will discuss his new book 'Fury' and why his protagonist, like his ex-wife, is furious."

As you've probably guessed, my wife and I don't agree on the merits of watching football.  I find it tremendously enjoyable; she has more fun scrubbing the bathtub.  If only I could get her to do it on Monday nights.

Her interests are far more sublime than football: literature, theater, movies, yoga, chess.  I've tried to convince her that football is a lot like chess, but she won't buy it.  She doesn't realize that the typical football fan has the foresight of a chess grandmaster, capable of deep thinking such as this: "Each team has two timeouts left.  That's really important to consider, because it means that there's enough time, in all probability, to buy four more beers!"

I've tried to tell her that football isn't just about men hitting each other -- it's also about men jumping on each other.  And the players really don't mind the violence.  That's why, after every game, many of them get together to pray.  "Dear God, please help our injured teammates."

I've tried to explain some of the redeeming aspects of pro football. For example:

• It isn't a sexist sport. After all, one woman owns a football team (the St. Louis Rams) and a number of other women are cheerleaders.
• When the referees throw their flags, it's worth the price of a ticket, for it's not every day you get to see men picking up after themselves.
• Football players wear helmets, which means that, unlike professional wrestlers, they value their brains.

We do have another TV in our bedroom, but I feel guilty going there to watch football alone. It's important for me to spend quality time with my wife.  Even if she's asleep.

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