[This is how comfortable I need to be if I’m going to have to watch the game, or whatever it’s called.]
Just read a whole slate of articles about sports. That’s the genius of the internet. Without trying, or paying attention, it’s possible to read thousands of words on a subject one cares nothing about. As in, sportsing. But good writing, or even sort of decent if mediocre writing, or, barring that, clickbait can be really compelling. So in half an hour I’ve learned some stuff about Scott Hamilton, some stuff about Eric Liddell, and learned that there’s a small chance, and by small I have no idea what I’m talking about, that Tim Tebow could come to Binghamton to play baseball for a while.
So, I mean, I did know that we have a baseball team here, with a nice stadium. Literally everyone I know has gone to this stadium to watch the bashing of the ball and the running around in the circle, except me. I’ve had the chance to go, but, much like with the offer of seeing a movie (the questions for that are, Is there suspense? Will it be loud? Will I hate it? And the answers are always yes so I never go) my first question is, Will I be cold? (Answer is always yes) and the second one is, Will it last for hours? (Answer also yes). I don’t think even the lure of Tim Tebow–who I understand is a celebrity for being a Christian? Do I have that right?–will be enough to draw me out into the cold night air to see history made on this local soil.
On the other hand, I am watching the Olympics almost every night. So it’s not that I am Against All Sportsing. I’m just against sportsing that involves me being physically uncomfortable for any reason. As far as I see it, the athlete is making himself or herself uncomfortable for no, as one of my children likes to say, “apparent reason” so there’s no reason, apparent or otherwise, for me to join him. One turns on the screen in order to relish the suffering of others, so that one’s own self can feel happy and comfortable about Not Suffering. The whole point of watching the sportsing is ruined if I myself experience even the minor-est discomfort.
Just like the only thing you can know about Johnny Weir is that he needs a better hairdresser. What I want to know is, how come he is allowed to be-clown himself on national television (even though, cough, it is increasingly not national), and nobody’s allowed to notice, but we all have to shout that Tim Tebow is Such A Clown, who can even bear it. Someone explain this to me. Actually, never mind. I can probably figure it out on my own.
Anyway, just one more point, which will then comprise the totality of all my sportsing commentary until the World Cup, how come there wasn’t a wider vote when the name of our baseball team was being changed? Because Rumble Ponies is less than adequate. Ponies? Really? Parlor Stallions, as my dear dear friend suggested, would have been much nicer. I might have gone then. Although, probably not. Even Tim Tebow coming will not be enough to move me. Although, maybe if he did up his hair like Johnny Weir…and took up ice dancing.
Do you know that one of the very few movies I did see in the theater was Blades of Glory. That was a great movie…by great I mean ridiculous, obviously.
Well, this has gone on long enough. I must go stand comfortably in the shower, and then try to make my hair stand up in that swoop, and then sit comfortably in a chair. That’ll be the totality of my sportsing for today. Pip pip.