My Sundays have always been about being a bum – lying around with my roommates watching old episodes of “Friends” that we know all the lines to. Maybe, if we’re feeling motivated, we’ll make a half-ass attempt to get to the gym or crack open a book.
However, the last two Sundays of my life were hijacked for one reason – Powder Puff practice – and I was not happy about it. (I’m a creature of habit, what can you do?) Let me just say that I appreciate sports as much as the next girl, but I like to do so from the sidelines, or, preferably, a seat in the bleachers where I can enjoy a halftime cocktail.
I’m a former cheerleader; I was never meant to participate, trust me. So, trying to learn the football basics with three whistle-yielding boys was not my idea of Sunday Funday. I expected the strategizing to stop once practice ended, but it followed us to class, to the bar on Tuesday night, and into the weekend festivities where I found myself talking offense with Coach Bill out on the Point deck. (I can spell o-f-f-e-n-s-e, but that’s pretty much where it ends.)
I guess I never realized the degree to which guys take their obsession with sports. When they’re not watching an event, they’re talking about it – or referencing game four of the ’95 World Series. You know, that double play in the bottom of the third when the ump made that terrible call? No, I actually have no idea what you’re talking about nor am I impressed with your long-term memory skills. Maybe it’s a testament to your masculinity.
Is it frowned upon by other guys if you can’t remember who won the Super Bowl nine years ago? (I bet you all just said the team name out loud.) Are you less of a man if you don’t keep up with the stats of every Red Sock in the starting lineup? I don’t know about other girls, but I hate the Red Sox because I’m from New Jersey, and it’s the law. The only place I want to see Tom Brady is in People next to Gisele.
Bottom line, boys love sports – playing them, watching them, talking about them.
They love to get sweaty and roll around with each other on the football field, shower together after basketball practice and then walk around the locker room half naked, wear those tight little wrestling outfits … hmm, now I’m starting to wonder if there’s more behind those baseball butt slaps than “Good game, buddy.” Think about it.
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