Tuesday, January 10, 2006
She Shoots, She Scores
One thing I’ve never been able to understand is men and their addiction to sports, with an exception being tennis. How can you not love a sport where you can buy sushi, wine and mesculin from the food court? The athletes are usually dressed in uppity white and are always civil. Even when McEnroe flipped out, the opponent or line judge didn't have to fear a concussion.
Granted, I haven’t tried very hard to stretch myself down the field of Astroturf. I have sat front and center at baseball games, hockey games and football games. Even with great seats, you spend a lot of time squinting trying to follow a teeny tiny item being batted around. You sit in folding chairs that offer no back support, no legroom and absolutely no comfort. You wait in long bathroom lines only to have the privilege to hover-squat over pee soaked plastic and wipe yourself with single ply sandpaper. You eat overpriced food with a caloric and sodium count that far exceeds the daily allowance. All of this for around $100 per person. Personally, I’d rather watch it all from home. There's instant replay and if I get bored, I can fib an I’m-going-to-the-bathroom and depart for greener pastures like reading or shopping.
I’ve noticed during my two month tenure on JDate that men have yet to clue into the fact that the average woman doesn’t give two craps about sports. Sure, my friends Jenn and Hope will go to games. Actually, Jenn could even name players and identify them in a line up. But I can guarantee you that neither girl would be gunning to place “Avid Sports Fan” at the top of the perfect date, characteristic wish list. Just as men wouldn’t top their list with “Ability To Drop Thousands at Neiman Marcus.”
Recently, two guys with sporty usernames contacted me. One has the word "hockey" imbedded in there somewhere and his primary photo shows him sweaty and benched at an ice rink. If you get benched, doesn’t it mean you either played like an animal, a girl or you just flat out suck? Wouldn’t a better photo be of him making a shot? I think there is a term “hat trick” that is favorable. Yeah. He should be doing a hat trick. Or better yet, have a picture that doesn’t display equipment. Men of the world, posing with sport's gear is like me posing with a Platinum AmEx in front of Bergdorf's. It is plain wrong if your goal is to attract the opposite sex.
The other sporty spice guy didn’t have a picture posted. I asked him to email me one seeing I have a photo up and I am not Helen Keller. Looks count for something on a very general level. I don’t mind bald or an uneven smile but I do struggle with gerbil eyes and facial hair. If I am going to spend money on Kiehl's and facials, I am not going to undue everything with a beau’s beard.
The photograph had the word “vet” in the name and I knew immediately it wasn’t a picture of him in a lab coat tending to a sick pup. I braced myself as the picture loaded. Sure enough, the guy was sitting on two blue chairs from the former Vet stadium in Philadelphia. They were shoved up against a living room wall with a framed Eagles poster hanging just above.
He IMed me shortly thereafter seeking a response.
“Did you get the picture?”
“Uh-huh. Did you steal those seats?” It was a fair question.
“No, I’m a season ticket holder and when the stadium closed, I was offered the opportunity to buy them. Couldn’t resist.”
“Sure. And when the teams are away, my buddy comes over and we watch the games in those seats. It’s great.”
I froze. My mind kept flashing the image of two grown men, one of which was a tad on the larger side, wedged into junky, blue, plastic stadium chairs now placed on shag carpeting. They'd sit there for hours on end, fighting for the shared armrest, screaming corrected calls for the umps, watching a sporting event on what I am sure is a huge, flat-screen, plasma, HDTV. If the Eagles were the team du jour, the volume would be muted with Merril Reese booming play by play from the radio speakers. It was all too much for me to handle.
“Gotta run. My herpes sores are acting up again.”
It was my version of a cross court slice landing right on the outside edge of the base line. I have no problem lying and making a stranger feel uncomfortable if it means he won’t think to contact me again. Speaking of which, he didn’t. She shoots, she scores!