To put this little gem you’re about to digest into a “sports” category killed me a little bit. Actually, a lot. But it made logical sense, and I didn’t feel like arguing with logic today. So here we are.
I hate organized sports and I think they are terribly boring, monotonous, pointless, a slew of other negative adjectives, blah, blah, blah. Sorry, I do. I’ve tried to see the point and fake interest, but it’s much too painful. Though not quite as painful as my mother telling me I’m never going to get married because of this horrendous character flaw of mine.
Spouse or no spouse, I don’t get it. How those crazed, die-hards are able to stand in the freezing cold or the mother of heat waves in June, just to watch a bunch of sweaty men (or women, even worse) throw their balls around, is so far beyond me.
I grew up in Texas, where football is religion (If you haven’t read Friday Night Lights in all of its monotonous glory, it’s spot on in depicting just how obsessed people are with something so stupid). AND I was a cheerleader. I also despised each and every second of it. Note: I mourn the loss of four years of my youth, subject to the tyranny of an evil cheerleading coach, which I endured because I was under the impression that I needed to waves poms and get kicked in the head in order to get into college. No. So wrong. Don’t fall for it.
It’s bad enough to be a dumb, dancing puppet for a crowd of brainwashed sheep. Our sole purpose was to try and get them to yell louder than they already were for pimply, douchey high school boys that could barely pass Home Ec. But when us perky, spirited supporters weren’t mindlessly doing that, we had to watch them run around and hit each other. Cool sport. Really, really awesome. Next they should hit each other with clubs and see who passes out first.
This is generally my attitude toward every sport there is, though I do occasionally (very, very occasionally) indulge in watching gymnastics, dancing, professional competitive cheerleading, or figure skating if it happens to be on TV and nothing else is on. Judge me.
I acknowledge the amount of physically demanding training that any athlete must endure, so I don’t want to hear it. I’m not trying to offend any of you lovely people who give a shit about reading any of my psychotic brain vomit.
But I do want to talk about a sport of a different color: let’s talk about tennis, and how funny it is, and other stuff about it.
Up until yesterday afternoon, I had never attended a match, because… Well, you know my feelings about sports now. But I’m a great friend, regardless of those feelings. So I went with my friend who had to go. I went, I sweat, and I heard some of the most barbaric, interesting, disturbing noises in the entire world.
Most of them were the things I don’t even hear in bed, but I imagine those weird kinky couples do.
Here is my best attempt at spelling one such exclamation from my favorite player.
Every time this guy hit the ball. Every. Single. Time. Back and forth, and back and forth. Over and over he made this terrifying, passionate, grunting sound.
Now don’t get me wrong, it was disturbing and pretty irritating after a while. But at the same time, there was something oddly interesting about it.
Personally I love when men (really anyone for that matter, but it’s especially attractive in the opposite sex) display their passion, whatever it may be, without any inhibitions. It’s beautiful, not to mention fascinating, to watch, no matter how strange it might be.
Yes even, “Hhhhheeeeeeeuuhhhhhhhhhaaaahhhhh!” exclaimed with gusto, makes me giddy inside.
It didn’t hurt that he was one beautiful chunk of tennis playing man meat, either.
Basically, his display of aggression and passion and all that jazz, made me think of sex. Combined with the noises, I came to the conclusion that he was just sexing that tennis court up and down. And I loved it.
I mean, not that much. Because soon I got really hot, and could see the start of a weird fucking tan line on my shoulders (which I wasn’t able to prevent, unfortunately). So we left. But it was really fun while it lasted. Well, not that fun. But Mr. Caveman Tennis Guy was nice to observe.
So, take notes, people! Grunt your battle cry with conviction! Even if it is football or some sport that I find pointless; do what you do. Just don’t make me watch unless you’re sexing a tennis court, or something equally thrilling.