The human race has plenty of reasons to tease me. For starters:
1. The incidents (yes, this occured several times) in which I'd put on one of my mother's slips and run around the house.
2. The fact that I nearly laid an egg when my U.S. Postal Service online order of stamps arrived the other day.
3. A bookstore can sway me with promises of cupcakes.
4. Left toenails: blue.
5. When it comes down to it, I really enjoy alphabetizing.
6. Right toenails: red.
So, here are a few more reasons: tonight's Storm game.
The men of my family have tried very hard to make a man out of me. There were failed attempts to teach me to
1. fire a gun
2. hit a baseball (I'm pretty sure I ran away from it)
3. catch a baseball (I'm pretty sure I ran away from it)
4. throw a football (you get the idea)
5. catch a football
6. throw a frisbee
7. hit a golf ball (I became quite good at hitting the dirt)
and so forth.
Attempts to get me to
1. like sports
2. participate in sports
3. and be good in sports
all ended in a colossal failure that now manifests itself as my "adult" existence. For most men in my family, this shouldn't have been such a difficult task. But, every family has its... well... you know.
Anyway, they gave up long ago. Monuments to my attempted masculinization persist, particularly the long-neglected basketball hoop affixed to my mother's garage. I believe it's been touched twice, and glared at with utter contempt, by yours truly, about as often as the sun has risen over this globe.
But, tonight, something extraordinary occurred. I went to an organized sporting event... and had a blast...
It must have been embarrassing for Zach. When we arrived and sat down (some 45 minutes prior to the start time), I was filled with questions:
"What's that half circle?"
"Why do they call it 'dribbling'?"
"How many points do you get for a run?"
"Jim, it's called a basket..."
"Oh, that too."
During Zach's fourth or fifth attempt to explain the basic rules to me, I began to understand them. My mind was able to wrap around the concepts better than football, baseball, or even volleyball. Ball in basket. None of this "45th down" stuff from football, or who's-on-first sh*t in baseball. And don't even ask me what's going on with volleyball.
During the National Anthem:
Me: "Oh my God. I hate my life."
Zach: "What?"
Me: "Look up at the screens."
Zach: "What?"
Me: "We're screwed. This country is so screwed."
Zach: "What?!"
Me: "They have to put the words to The Star-Spangled Banner up there."
Zach: "You're kidding!"
Me, pointing: "See for yourself!"
Zach: "Oh my God."
Me: "Yeah. Kind of makes you wonder if our society is even WORTH saving when we can remember twelve thirty-second product jingles from the radio, but it's suddenly too much trouble to have folks learn a simple two-minute patriotic song, you know?"
Zach: "Yeah, it does make one wonder..."
pause
Me: "Actually, it doesn't make me wonder. We deserve what we get."
As the game begins:
Me: "Ball-in-hoop!"
Zach: "Huh?"
Me: "Oh, I'm just reminding myself of the point... Oh, YEEHA!!!"
Zach: "What?"
Me: "We just scored!!!"
Zach: "No, that's L.A. They're the ones in purple."
Me: "Well, sh*t-on-a-stick, damnit. I thought that was us."
Zach: "Why?"
Me: "I like purple."
Later:
Me: "Their coach must be so cool."
Zach: "Why?"
Me: "'Cause her last name's Donovan."
Zach: "So?"
Me: "So?!?! Haven't you ever heard Mellow Yellow?"
Zach: "Uh, yeah."
Me: "The song?"
Zach: "Uh, yeah. So?"
pause
Me, under breath: "'I'm just mad about Saff-'"
Zach: "He scores!!!"
Me: "She scores."
Zach: "Oh, sing your damn song."
Much later:
Zach: "Oooooh!
Me: "What?"
Zach: "Annie Lennox just got fouled."
Me: "What?"
Zach, giggling: "Annie Lennox just got fouled!"
pause
Zach: "I've been waiting to say that all night."
Me: "I think her name is Betty."
Zach: "Oh."
pause
Zach: "Shut up."
Much much later:
Me: "I wanna be a referee."
Zach: "Why?"
Me: "They have all the power!"
ten minutes later
Me: "You know how I said earlier that I want to be a ref?"
Zach: "Yeah."
Me: "Well, I changed my mind."
Zach: "Why?"
Me: "Well, everyone's yelling that they're blind."
Much much much later:
Me: "Oh, good! I like this part."
Zach: "What part?"
Me: "They're doing another jumble. They just announced it."
Zach: "What?"
Me: "You know, a jumble. Where the ref tosses up the ball and they leap up for it."
Zach: "James, that's not a jumble."
Me: "But it's what they said over the loudspeakerthingy!"
Zach: "It's jump ball."
Me: "Oh, I can't hear a damn thing in this place anyway.
Just after halftime:
Me: "Oh, no!!!"
Zach: "What the hell's wrong? We scored!"
Me: "No, she just scored in the other team's basket!"
Zach: "Huh?"
Me: "Yeah, why didn't anyone stop her? She just scored a point for L.A.!"
Zach: "Jimmy, they switched sides at halftime."
Me: "Really?"
Zach: "Yeah."
Me: "Oh."
pause
Me: "Isn't that confusing?"
Zach: "Huh?"
Me: "I mean, to the players. You know... what if they get 'em mixed up and start running the wrong way."
Zach: "I don't think that's likely to happen."
Me: "Does the audience get confused?"
Zach: "Not likely."
pause
Zach: "Except you, of cour-"
Me: "Oh, YAAAAAAAAAY!"
Zach: "Jim, quiet. That was the other team again."
Me: "Oh."
Other highlights included
1. the BO of the man infront of me which, for about twenty minutes, I thought was someone's really old hair gel
2. Zach's Seattle Storm hologram collector's cup
3. foam soap in the restrooms
4. we won, too... 77-72
I'm entirely shocked that I enjoyed myself, and found it interesting. I'd be intrigued to go again. Hell, the tickets were even slightly cheaper than taking in a film at the Seattle Cinerama. On the way home, Zach asked if I'd want to go to a men's basketball game, too. But, actually, it doesn't sound as interesting, and actually seems a bit more intimidating. Perhaps all the straight male odors and pheromones at such an event would put me on the defensive.
Perhaps.
And perhaps, at the women's basketball game, the huge number of lesbian couples there provided indirect maternal comfort, making me feel comfortable and free to ask all the insane questions I want. Plus, they were cursing out the refs the most. I learned lots of new words.
Or, perhaps I suffer from some sort of subconscious/unconscious gender discrimination. If given a choice, I choose to interact with women over men, perhaps as a result of my own extreme discomfort with my own malformed masculinity. Perhaps, though entirely comfortable with my sexuality, and my physical gender (the Y chromosome and all of the accessories it gives me), I've become estranged from the behavioral side of my gender, and will thus forever run from it.
Or, perhaps I just like the way lesbians curse.
Posted by James at July 31, 2005 10:17 PM