Hey Everyone, Let's Relive the Nightmare of the High School Gym
Or "Community Sports: A fun and healthy atmosphere."
By Adam Bourret
Posted February 11th, 2007
Sports. They haunt me. No matter what I accomplish in this life or the next, I will never live them down.
Like when they put me in skates and I immediately did the splits and peed myself. Or when they sent me to play baseball and I swung the bat and hit myself in the back of my head. Or when I was playing rugby and Todd Smith, my major crush walked up to me and then I got my period all over him. Sports just bring back weird gooey high school memories that should be buried in the backyard along with my school uniform and my Devon Sawa scrapbook.
If you asked me I still couldn't tell you what possessed me to go and dig them up.
"It will be fun!" she said, her eyes sparkling. "It's a non-competitive league for young people. You form a team and play a different game every week. It's totally chill. I'll be there."
I was intrigued. Maybe this was the "healthy social activity" that lady on CBC radio was talking about. I imagined myself jogging merrily along the basketball court trading witticisms with attractive, toned compatriots. Then, at the end of the game, I'd light a cigarette and say "well, time to undo all that good work" and everyone would laugh and give me high fives. Then a spinning newspaper would announce "Bourret wins again! High school memories erased!"
But it was not to be.
It seems that within every office monkey, every software programmer, every magazine associate, everyone you could meet, there lurks a grim goblin of competitive spirit. We would meet the other team, exchange handshakes, and then... and then the anger. Bad calls, lack of communication, poor sportsmanship, fear of the other. "We'll meet and have fun," soon became "we'll meet and destroy." As the competitive spirit intensified, my frustration increased. What was wrong with these people?
Our first game was dodgeball, which is a game designed by middle school soccer coaches because you're young and your penis works and they hate you. You run around like a prison escapee while bigger, uglier kids hurl balls at your head. At one point, to alleviate the tension of being hunted like a dog in the street, I seized all three dodgeballs and stacked them on top of each other. "Look everyone," I hooted, "it's a snowman!"
"Throw the balls!" they yelled angrily.
I was insulted. Never in Canadian history has folksy snow-related humour gone so unappreciated. As I lifted my arm to throw, I got pegged in the temple by a man who looked like Richard Kiel. "Nice try Pajama-Pants!" a guy called out. Well, so what if I was wearing pajama-pants? They worked out well. Except during a basketball when I went to do a lay-up and my dick fell right out.
Besides exposing your genitals, here are some other things that are apparently "unsportsmanlike."
1) Yelling "Hey look over there!" or "Oh my God, you're on fire!"
2) Inventing catchy nicknames for people on the other team.
3) Recreating situations from popular sports movies.
4) Asking the other team to give you the ball because your mother has cancer.
As my efforts to reach out, make light conversation and share my personal problems failed, my competitiveness increased. "Battle ye not with monsters, lest ye become a monster" and all that. Oh, to live in the simple times when people still said "ye." But this is the new millennium and we're supposed to cut throat and be aggressive and bring sexy back. I charged at my opponents, I grabbed the ball out of their hands, I heckled and jeered. When I scored a goal or basket, I held my arms high in triumph, inviting losers to sniff my rank pits. "Adam," said the team captain, "you're being really rough out there. This is supposed to be fun."
Oops.
So I retired from the world of amateur sports. No high fives and spinning newspapers for me. I'm now enrolling in a hip hop dancing class. I imagine myself dancing freely, bobbing my head and waving my hands in the air. For at last, at last, I just won't care.
Unless some homey gets all up in my face, in which case I will pop and lock his ass right out of my yard.