I'm Open! I'm Open? Why Am I OPEN?!
So, it’s no secret that, when it comes to being good at sports, I’m not. Fine, understatement – because it’s no secret that, when it comes to being good at sports, I get two strikes by swinging twice before the first pitch, and then nearly decapitate the catcher when the ball actually reaches the plate. I accidentally pass the football to someone on the other team, and that someone is the mascot, and you’d think I’d realize that the giant-headed bulldog was playing for the team that was named after him, but then, you’d be wrong. I dribble from the opposite side of the court, taking a shot with only five seconds left in the game, scoring a basket from the three point line, while an entire gymnasium shouts, “We’re playing indoor soccer!”
Okay, so, overstatement, now, but my point is: I have the hand-eye coordination of a snake. And I’m okay with that. Well, I’m okay with that so long as you never ever force me to relive Gym Class: Grades One through Eight-or-So, again, because…middle school gym class? Scariest 45 minutes of any given day (which is saying a lot, because you should try the cafeteria food, am I right, people?). I mean, even now, I wonder how they continue to force kids who, quite obviously, were not made for throwing and catching and serving and dodging to attempt to do exactly that, in front of an entire room of possible friends. How do they stick someone whose primary method of exercise is marching band on the same team as the guy who punches lockers in when he loses? How could they say something like, “Alright, it’s guys day, and we’re going to try wrestling, but if you can’t make it past the first step, there’s a ping-pong table set up in the hallway…” and not realize the potential for embarrassment? Is the fear in some kids’ eyes too hard for gym teachers to make out, what with the goggles that they force anyone with glasses to wear? And, by the way – wear your glasses and put on these Mr. Wizard goggles, or take them off and continue to pass the basketball to that particularly person-looking garbage can over there – really, what kind of options are those? And doesn’t the fact that, seven years later, I still feel the need to write paragraphs about this prove something? I mean, besides about myself?
But…again – I’m okay with it. In fact, since I never got to have a Bar Mitzvah, nor watch my evil uncle, against whom I would one day swear vengeance, push my father into a stampede of wildebeest, I think the moment that I became a man might have been when I made the sudden realization that my only hope of survival was to embrace my complete uselessness when it came to sports, therefore acquiring self-awareness, which in turn, works as a preliminary strike against any would-be attackers, because if you’re already making fun of how much you suck at football, what the heck could they really to do to you?
Wait. How did this whole thing go from being about how I can’t catch a pop fly to a self-analyzation on the lasting effect of would-be childhood trauma, and the way it has affected the way I approach both myself and the world? Ew, let’s not let that happen, ever again.
But, hey, I think we all learned a valuable lesson, today: If at first you don’t succeed, at least learn how to succeed at not succeeding. Or something.
Background noise: The Decemberist’s The Sporting Life. People don’t write enough straightforward songs about completely random topics, but this is great one. Likewise, the few Decemberist songs that are really good are…well, exactly that, so I hope their next album features 75% less pirate shanties and more “real” tracks, because, sure, if I wanted to listen to pirate shanties I’d probably choose theirs, but when does that mood ever strike me, ya know?
Okay, so, overstatement, now, but my point is: I have the hand-eye coordination of a snake. And I’m okay with that. Well, I’m okay with that so long as you never ever force me to relive Gym Class: Grades One through Eight-or-So, again, because…middle school gym class? Scariest 45 minutes of any given day (which is saying a lot, because you should try the cafeteria food, am I right, people?). I mean, even now, I wonder how they continue to force kids who, quite obviously, were not made for throwing and catching and serving and dodging to attempt to do exactly that, in front of an entire room of possible friends. How do they stick someone whose primary method of exercise is marching band on the same team as the guy who punches lockers in when he loses? How could they say something like, “Alright, it’s guys day, and we’re going to try wrestling, but if you can’t make it past the first step, there’s a ping-pong table set up in the hallway…” and not realize the potential for embarrassment? Is the fear in some kids’ eyes too hard for gym teachers to make out, what with the goggles that they force anyone with glasses to wear? And, by the way – wear your glasses and put on these Mr. Wizard goggles, or take them off and continue to pass the basketball to that particularly person-looking garbage can over there – really, what kind of options are those? And doesn’t the fact that, seven years later, I still feel the need to write paragraphs about this prove something? I mean, besides about myself?
But…again – I’m okay with it. In fact, since I never got to have a Bar Mitzvah, nor watch my evil uncle, against whom I would one day swear vengeance, push my father into a stampede of wildebeest, I think the moment that I became a man might have been when I made the sudden realization that my only hope of survival was to embrace my complete uselessness when it came to sports, therefore acquiring self-awareness, which in turn, works as a preliminary strike against any would-be attackers, because if you’re already making fun of how much you suck at football, what the heck could they really to do to you?
Wait. How did this whole thing go from being about how I can’t catch a pop fly to a self-analyzation on the lasting effect of would-be childhood trauma, and the way it has affected the way I approach both myself and the world? Ew, let’s not let that happen, ever again.
But, hey, I think we all learned a valuable lesson, today: If at first you don’t succeed, at least learn how to succeed at not succeeding. Or something.
Background noise: The Decemberist’s The Sporting Life. People don’t write enough straightforward songs about completely random topics, but this is great one. Likewise, the few Decemberist songs that are really good are…well, exactly that, so I hope their next album features 75% less pirate shanties and more “real” tracks, because, sure, if I wanted to listen to pirate shanties I’d probably choose theirs, but when does that mood ever strike me, ya know?
posted by Matt at 12:12 PM
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