By: Cody DiCavalcante
So my friends, I’m here; still writing, still blogging, still continuing to outreach to smaller communities with toilet flushing devices that are a fraction tinier than my fingernail. Tonight will be a very special post. A post where I try with extreme effort to make sense of athletic tellings. I’ve never been one for sports. In fact, I think I quit every sport within two weeks before the age of 12. I was always sick of doing crab walks, and bear crawls and working out in the heat. I didn’t really care for competition and trying to be the best ball player. Although, I was pretty good at shooting hoops, I gave it up because I never could fit in with athletic, cocky pre-teens. That’s why I stopped at such an early age.
Anyways, lets get down to business. So, tonight my friend Greg sent me a YouTube clip of a guy named Inglis, I think that was his last name. Maybe he didn’t have a name and people just preferred calling him the spanish translation of English. I don’t really know. Anyways, within a couple seconds, a man showed up on the screen wearing a red jersey, walking through a concrete rectangular entrance and then out onto a big green field. I instantly felt like turning it off and telling him I didn’t want to watch it. I did that but I didn’t even narrow it down to telling him the right sport that was annoying the shit out of me. What I thought was a soccer game, turned out to be a rugby game. My data banks have been shut down until further notice.
I even sucked at sport video games. I tried mastering NFL2K and Madden 09′ but it just never got through to me. I’d try long pass plays where I thought I could get to the end zone the fastest by picking the ones where the lines were always the longest, meaning the players always charged down the runway, waiting for the pass to enter their hands. I’d pick a good long yard play and smile, thinking this would eventually work. It never did. I’d hike the ball, walk backwards for five seconds, get sacked then throw the controller. Then eventually I’d try something different and just do a running play but something always went wrong. I’d press the wrong button. I’d press triangle instead of circle which would just make me do a spin move multiple times until I got sacked again and again and again. I’d try to get better by playing practice games. I’d pick a team I knew nothing about but defended them even if that season they were fucking horrible. The Cleveland Browns in 2002, the Jacksonville Jaguars in 2007, something like that and my friends would laugh at my horrible choice of football teams. I didn’t care. Anyways, when no one was home, I’d try and get my practice in. I’d pick a team, then choose an opponent, I’d set the difficulty to hard to try and give myself a challenge when I already knew super easy was even too hard. I didn’t care but in the end the score board always screamed some mundane number in my face. I had lost 3-30. I’d give up on the video games for several weeks then try again but I always just got pissed off and ending up at square one.
Not much has changed. I still don’t really watch sports. I’ll watch KU games but that’s about it. One night I watched NFL live for about thirty minutes. It felt like I was being forced to watch a person eating liquid hot magma while a grandma yelled in my ear. I’d try to text my above mentioned friend Greg about my eagerness to watch something about football. I’d text him random football players names and then expect him to think I was stepping up my game but he knew I was just tossing names out there. The conversation didn’t last too long. Maybe five minutes with about 10 players I just randomly named off through the phone world, each in consecutive order of how I saw them each appear on the screen.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tolerate sports. There’s something about watching people throw a ball around that I don’t understand, especially on the television. I don’t get riled up over football or hockey. It just never happens. I see someone score a touchdown but its not the same reaction that my friends have. They yell really loud as the other team runs into the goal line, I just stare at them, wanting to punch their face for yelling so loudly and bringing my blood pressure up, I guess I just think a football game should be kept at a coffeeshop volume and that’s most likely the reason I go from a human heart rate to a rabbit’s. Anyways, I think I’m done here. Take it easy, wherever you may be.