Not many holidays are as widely loved, yet similarly hated, as Valentine’s Day. For those who aren’t conspiracy theorists who bitterly blame jewelers and greeting card companies for the holiday, Valentine’s Day symbolizes a time to show that special someone just how much he or she means.

For those who find the holiday a day to dread rather than a day to celebrate, it might seem that V-Day’s sole purpose is to provide Chris Carrabba with more lovelorn lyrics and John Cusack with more film roles as a heartbroken teen.

At the very least, Valentine’s Day provides everyone with a choice. Whether someone chooses to take a long-term girlfriend to the movies, barricade him or herself in a room or make a music video to the tune of Peter Cetera’s “Glory of Love,” the day allows everyone to take a look inside and decide what’s truly important.

I have to side with the people who have decided that finding love by Feb. 14 isn’t terribly high on their list of priorities. Though it might be bitterness talking, I’d like to think that there are other things more rewarding than the grind of being in a relationship. For that reason, I’ve decided to write my Valentine’s Day love letter to sports rather than a cute girl in class or an ex-girlfriend. So here it is:

Dear Sports,

On this special holiday, I want to tell you all the things I love about you. First of all, I love how you always make me laugh. Unlike the formulaic Hugh Grant romantic comedy du jour that summons more yawns than smiles, I can’t keep the grin off my face when a 7-foot-6 center gets a loose ball in his hands with the ridiculous idea in his head that he is coordinated enough to dribble it down court. I can’t help but laugh wondering what the two linemen are talking about with their faces inches apart as the equipment manager tries to separate their interlocked facemasks. My sides ache each time I overhear Yankees fans deny the fact that the team is buying championships. Humor isn’t the only thing I love about you, sports.

You are also always there to make me care. You don’t make me care in the same sense as a story about a girlfriend’s roommate’s cousin’s biology test would, but I think that’s probably a good thing. You make my stomach churn when I step up to the line at an intramural game. You make me shout at the television as if the outcome of a Wednesday night Bucks game will have some profound impact on my life. You make me meet the mailman outside on Thursdays to get the latest Sports Illustrated. You cause me to take it personally when the Packers lose. You get me to jump up and pump my fist like I just won the Grand Slam when Tiger lips out a putt to allow the underdog to take home the trophy. You make me care about you more than I care about myself sometimes, which let’s me know how special you are.

You even make me feel like I’m really good, even when I’m not. You make me forget the missed putt and bladed approach shot that led to the double bogey on the last hole after ripping my one and only good drive of the day right down the middle. You make me think I’m a baller when I hit the shot to end one of the sloppiest, longest and least skillfully played games of basketball this side of a junior high girls game. You make me feel like I just knocked off Oklahoma when my intramural team wins a C-division flag football game. The way you make me feel keeps me coming back for more, and I just wanted you to know that.

While I love you for all the things you do for me, I also love you for the things you don’t make me do.

I love that I don’t have to dress up when I see you. I can lie on my couch and watch the game wearing the same shirt I had on yesterday without having to answer to anyone. I can wear a hideous orange or purple team jersey and be considered at the height of fashion when I’m at the stadium. I can be considered appropriately dressed with shorts on and a letter painted on my chest in 5-degree weather. Now that’s love.

I also love how you don’t make me feel awkward. There are no uncomfortable silences or ambiguous signals. There is a winner and a loser, a hero and a goat, a victor and the vanquished.

With you, I never have to deal with that awkward moment where I stare down at my shoes and go through the whole “I had a really good time tonight” routine while I’m trying to read whether she wants to kiss me goodnight or mace me if I take another step closer. There are so many other reasons why I love you, sports, but I only have so much room in this letter.

So, for those with steady love interests who are not yet convinced that a relationship with sports can be better than one with a boyfriend or girlfriend, I’ll leave you with one last thought.

While it’s true that sports can break your heart, at least you know that they’ll never sleep with your friends.