A Damn Good Sport

A colleague asked me recently what sport I excelled at the most when I was in high school. Some of them don't really know me all that well yet.

"Masturbation," I replied. With every question, however, they're getting to know me better.

No. No real athletics for me growing up, and yet I sure as hell managed to break a shitload of bones. Hardcore Apronheads will no doubt remember my post about fracturing my ankle in elementary school music class. Classic. There was also that time I made the mistake of picking up the telephone in my Great Grandmother's bedroom while my sister was on the phone with some douchecarton in the other room. I giggled into the receiver, but the giggling stopped when she blew into the bedroom, wrenched the receiver out of my hand, and broke my arm. There were other casts, and boots, and crutches, and, just to mix it up, a cane, but it's hard now to remember what incidents brought upon which injuries. The cane was the result, of course, of my father running my foot over with the old Saab.

Good. Times.

I can only imagine how many injuries I would have sustained had I decided to pursue athletics instead of theatre. I mean, any actor will tell you that performing is a dangerous business. Backstage, it's very dark and there are sound wires and cables and big, thick, knotted rope and sandbags and weights and rickety wooden supports holding up flats-- lots of shit to potentially fuck your night up if you step the wrong way. Back in high school, some dicktard fell through a trap-door during a rehearsal for "The Crucible."

Oops.

Onstage, it's pretty dangerous, too. Lots of shows feature at least some level of stage combat. A slap or a punch. I've been in several shows that involved full-on sword fights-- two of those involved flying, too, which is kind of tricky. Even though the swords were blunted, I could easily have jabbed poor Peter Pan in the schnutz as he flew over my head. And then he'd really never grow up, or at least he'd never have a kid who would grow up.

Also, theatres themselves are dangerous. Back in the day, they'd burn down all the time, due to antiquated lighting systems, risky special effects, and melodrama.

But sports always were, and definitely remain, very perilous endeavors. I mean, the very core idea behind some sports is the act of throwing your body up against the body of another.

Ouchies, right?

Because I never "did sports" growing up, I missed out on a lot of shit, I'm sure. Like the whole, "it's okay to slap another guy's ass, or a lot of guys' asses" thing. I've never slapped another guy's ass and have had it be some sort of socially-acceptable, non-threatening, non-gay thing. It was always kind of... I don't know... unacceptable, a bit threatening, and, you know, gay. Like, if you were a guy (and, if you're reading this blog, you're probably not) and I slapped your ass, you'd probably punch me in the throat, regardless of whether or not you were wearing a Brian Dawkins jersey at the time.

Although I can't say this with absolute certaintly, I'm also pretty sure I never won a trophy. No-- no plastic, rectangular pieces of white plastic with some sort of plastic, athletic-looking figurine coated in gold paint with some metallic, shimmery-colored placard saying, "Honorable Mention for Squash Semi-Regionals, Section IV " for me. You'll probably say to yourself, "Well, Jesus, this cat's such a fucking schdork he must have done Speech & Debate and got some trophy he just doesn't remember."

Nope. You're wrong. I wasn't even cool enough for Speech & Debate. So, like, your argument is wrong. See? I coulda done it, though.

Another thing I never got growing up because I eschewed all things athletic was a torn ACL. In case you haven't boned up on your anat/phys, the ACL is the Anterior Cruciate Ligament, and lots of athletes fuck that shit right up. If you hang out around enough athletes who love to talk about themselves and the stupid injuries they get while they're engaging in sporting activities, sooner or later, you'll hear some square-jaw talking your ear off about his/her ACL. If you get an athlete drunk enough, he or she might go on and on about an ACL injury for hours, and then they may throw up on you.

According to some annoying website somewhere, "more than 81,600 people injured their knee playing soccer, and 225,800 sustained injuries in basketball" and, if THAT weren't bad enough, "an estimated 200,000 ACL injuries occur annually in the United States. Approximately 60,000-75,000 ACL reconstructions are performed each year."

So, I guess, the way I look at it, really: I didn't miss much. But part of me still wants a fucking trophy. And, if I have to bust up my ACL to get it, I'd consider it. But only if it were a really big trophy. Like, one that I could hot-glue to the roof of my car and drive around the neighborhood with. You know-- to fucking really rub it in peoples' faces and shit.


That's right. I went there.