ENTRY EIGHT: I Suck At Sports
Sports really aren’t my thing. For some reason I just can’t get the hang of it. I have about the same athletic ability as a…well…humor writer. It’s always been a thorn in my side, one of the things I’ve wanted to change about myself. I’ve always thought that if I got better at sports, the little things would fall into place: popularity, women, and an ironed shirt. But no matter how hard I try I can never get better. And the more I think about it, the more I suck.
I was that kid on your team. You know what I’m talking about. That kid. Not THE kid, that kid. There’s a big difference. THE kid is the one who belts a homer in the bottom of the 9th, who runs for 200 yards a game, and sinks the game winning 3-pointer. That kid (me) is the one who supports the team by gesturing with a pelvic thrust for every free throw. That’s me. That kid. The one you yelled at to hustle, the one you never passed the ball to. The one who is most likely a nerd and/or fat Asian kid. But I’m glad I was that kid. It made me the person I am today. You see, in all those innings/quarters/periods that I sat on the bench, the only way I kept my sanity and self-esteem was by making jokes. I made the rest of the B-teamers laugh with my pelvic thrusts and rally caps on my groin. And it was great, but at the same time it wasn’t. While it prepared me for social situations, it didn’t prepare me for social situations involving athletics.
A few days ago, I went to a party at this kid’s house. There were a ton of people there, and I didn’t know anybody. So I was excited to lay on the Dr. Delicious Dave Charm© and have some fun. And there were girls at this party. Badonkadonk girls. Even Gadoonkadoonk girls. That’s right, ladies with a gadoonkadoonk and a badonkadonk. It’s almost impossible if you think about it, but they were there, right in front of me. So I walk out to the patio and everyone is centered on this one guy, let’s call him “Chaz”. Chaz was the man. He was the guy who looked like an Abercrombie model and had all the good stories; the guy who had seen more panties than a Victoria’s Secret employee and destroyed more female self-esteems than Britney Spears. I walked over to the crowd and my friend introduced me. Quickly, I made a hella funny quip about pineapple (works everytime) and I had them. They were all gravitating to me. I was what I like to call the Conversation King. The person who controls who comes into the conversation circle and when it’s time to change topics. Oh man it was great. And this went on for like an hour! I was the King for an hour! Everyone wanted to talk to me, especially the badonkadonks. But then, in the midst of a gregarious yarn about the plastic thingies on the end of shoelaces, I noticed something coming towards me. At first I thought it was a snowman with a normal body, but as it got closer I noticed it was Chaz…with a volleyball!
Chaz knew. He could tell I was that kid. I bet he knew the second I let out the pineapple joke. And inside me, even though I didn’t want to think it, I knew Chaz was THE kid. I had been the King for an hour, and Chaz wanted to reclaim the throne. Chaz walked over slyly and tossed the volleyball at me.
“How about a game of volleyball?” he said. And then the gadoonkadoonks with the badonkadonks quickly turned their heads to me with a burning passion in their eyes and I couldn’t resist.
“Sure” I said. MISTAKE NO. 1.
Chaz says to me, “Are you any good?”
I say, “I’ve been known to take care of bid-ness.” MISTAKE NO. 2
I was appointed captain, and Chaz was the other captain. At this point, I figured out a strategy. I picked all the badonkadonks with the gadoonkadoonks, praying that they had no athletic talent outside of the bedroom so I in essence would look good in comparison. MISTAKE NO. 3. Turns out over half of them were on their high school volleyball team. So being the captain, I serve first. I can see the ecstasy in my teammates eyes and I know they’re saying, “If he can bump, set, and spike, I hear bells…not wedding bells, but the bells on MY CHASTITY BELT!” (Ok, maybe they never thought that but I think it’s clever) I toss the ball into the air; I hit it…AN ACE! BOO-YAH! Then Chaz the Schazz says, “Why didn’t you jump on the serve? No point.” MISTAKE NO. 4. It becomes apparent to me now that I am dealing with an extremely talented athletic group. But I didn’t back down. I played my ass off the whole game. MISTAKES 5 – 32.5 (falling on top of the blonde on my team is only a half mistake because in the end I won. Hehehe. )
So the game ended and we went back inside. We watched some movies, danced, and played some pool. But I never rose to the rank of Conversation King again that night. I’m sure either a badonkadonk or a gadoonkadoonk laid Chaz and he still remains THE kid. And I guess I’m still that kid.
But now that kid has a plan. You see all the girls I’ve ever dated are much more athletically talented than I am. I’ve dated volleyball players, dancers, gymnasts, and softball players. The way I see it, the athletic traits will overpower the humor writer traits. (IMAGINE THIS: pink female chromosomes beating my helpless humor writer chromosome with their softball bats and volleyballs, while my chromosomes try to defend themselves with a Dave Barry book and some Skittles.) Hopefully when I have kids at least one of my kids will quarterback the Bears to a Super Bowl. And if a humor writer pops out, that’s ok too, I’ll put him in sports so he can develop his witty talents on the bench. And maybe I’ll be closer to that kid. Who knows, I may not cry when my firstborn wins the Super Bowl MVP award, but the day my other kid puts a rally cap on his crotch…I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back the tears.
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