Soccer?

Ok, I freely admit this idea came from the childhood memory of someone else's blog that I read.

It has been pointed out to me several times since childhood that I'm weird because I'm not really into sports. People are borderline offended by it.

No, I'm not about to rip those people a new one. However...

When I was a little kid, little league sports were very much there as they are today. With only one major difference...today, the Mighty Ducks attitude is a little more commonplace on sports teams.

In my day, the Bad News Bears mentality was alive and well. Kids were more openly cruel about their competitiveness.

First off, I wasn't raised to like sports. I don't know if my DNA is simply lacking the sports genome, but it's one of the few things I don't mind admitting I have in common with my father. Sports games were rarely on our television, even before we had cable or satellite, even when it was THE thing to watch. That's probably why I spent half my childhood building model trains and cars in my bedroom until I discovered music.

Anyway...as a disclaimer, I did enjoy a baseball game anytime I was taken. Mom's doing. But I enjoyed the environment in old Arlington stadium more than the game itself.

My physical reaction times when playing sports were never good, but I encountered the Bad News Bears attitude just as early as 1st grade. I had a gym class just like everyone else. I hated it. Why? Because people played to win, viciously. Everything we did in there was a pissing contest to the power of Merlin, and if you were the one that cost them a score point, they would be up, in your face, threatening to mob-kick your ass. The few times I enjoyed things were the instances when we did archery or something along those lines.

In school, the coach used to play this cruel little game where he'd call out names and divide the class in half, but he always left me for last. He'd look at me and say "Take your pick." Thirty people, divided into groups of 15 would stare at me like "Don't you DARE!", and then I'd have to do some insipid eeny-meeny-miney-moe, in the hopes that their inane little minds would grasp that even I wanted to leave it up to chance; I didnt want to be on a team that didn't want me.

Random fate chose me for one side of the other, then I'd get the groans and moans from the team that I walked towards. My lack of confidence no doubt was spurred on even further by people like that.

When I was 10, my cousin was on a soccer team. We went to his games because his father -- my Dad's brother -- coached the team, very opposite man to my dad...charismatic, sports fan, good at coralling the kids. I became so enticed by the fact that my cousin's team was winning that year and going to the championships.

He was in the '8 year olds' team. My next door neighbor (who was my age) and I joined the '10 year olds team' the next year. Somehow my friend next door had gotten it into his head that he was going to have a trophy on his shelf. Delusions of grandeur, you see. So I got that idea too.

We were the worst team in the league. Not because of me, just because we were, collectively. But I was still beheld as the worst player, of course, who happened to be IN the worst team in the league. I played the position of full back, protection of the goalie. We lost every game but one, and in that game, I sat on the bench. Made me feel really good. Dad's brother didn't coach our team, either, some half-drunk jerk-off asshole friend of Dad's brother coached the 10-year-olds.

I couldn't help it sometimes, as a full back you had a lot of downtime...waiting for the game to come to that side of the field was boring. My attention span would wander off, next thing I knew, people were in my face with the ball and I'd have to refocus.

And of course, the kids on that team were just as cruel as the kids in the school gym. Once I tried at a team meeting (with parents present) to say jokingly that we could be "Good at being the losing team", and I swear I thought I was going to be murdered at that moment. I told my parents I wanted out, of course they would have none of it, since they paid for the season. I don't understand it, it was a mistake, I wanted to be gone, and they [the team] wanted me to be gone, my Dad didn't want to take me to games I didn't want to play, it would have been a clear cut case of mutual consent. But Dad was determined to make me miserable...perhaps he had a masochistic streak that enjoyed watching me lose...anyway...the season finally ended and I was free. It goes without saying I never did that again.

Well, that's my experience in sports. I think I hated it because it is just human nature that people are just too cruel to each other when they start playing it. I still do sheepishly admit that I enjoy a good baseball game if I'm physically there, and at my age, I enjoy the game more than the atmosphere, but such outages are very few and far between (maybe once every few years).

So now you know, why I don't have a flavor for sports. Except the Bad News Bears. They rock. :P

Tanner: "Hey Yankees! You can take your apology, and your trophy and SHOVE IT STRAIGHT UP YOUR ASS!"

Amen.

To People Who Are Miserable ***** In The Morning...

This blog is a full, wide-open, no-holds-barred rant, aimed at those who -- for whatever reason -- seem to not realize the value of a good night's sleep, yet feel special enough to take it out on others.

I don't care who you are, you can SOD the fuck off.

Most of us call you in the morning, trying to be as cheery as possible, because we know we're dealing with grogginess. Answering a phone half-asleep is one thing...tearing those of us new assholes because we called is NOT good common practice.

You know what? Maybe I should call you over and over and over. Perhaps that will jar your memory that I am supposedly someone you care about.

And it isn't just phone calls, I live with someone who lives for having a bad attitude in the morning.

I say to you who act this way, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? Life is DIFFICULT ENOUGH without being a bitch/asshole to your loved ones early in the morning...let me spell it out for you even more clearly...

YOU DO NOT HAVE ANY GOD-GIVEN RIGHT TO BEHAVE LIKE A SHITASS JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE JUST WOKEN UP.

If you are ill, that is different, you feel that way all day, so I know you're not faking it. But if you are just risen from bed, that's your own godamn problem.

It's very simple. Go to bed earlier if you can't deal wih getting up in the morning.

Maybe I should start warning new friends ahead of time -- "I am an early morning riser, typically. If you have a bad attitude when you get up, do me a favor...go crawl in a fucking hole somewhere, because I don't want to see you, hear you, even feel your presence near me."

Even those of us who NORMALLY get a decent night's rest, who occassionally come in a little tired, know NOT to be shitty to others, and we go out of our way to at least FAKE niceness in the morning. You don't grasp that.

No one likes unnecessary rudeness...and you people who show it early in the morning make it just that much worse for the rest of us...you really do...you add misery to a fucking day, whether it be at work, at home, over the phone, whatever. Making the rest of us suffer because you don't seem to grasp the concept that going to bed 2 hours before you have to go to work/get out of bed is generally a BAD idea for most human beings. Oh, and saying "Man, sorry about that, I just wasn't awake...I only had 3 hours of sleep last night" like you are proud of it is NOT acceptable, either.

Thank you for adding your crap to the gene pool...you people are really something special.

Piss off. I mean that, sincerely.

I Hate This City...

...I hate just about everything about it. Once upon a time, I had very few reasons to actually hate it. Now I can't stand leaving my house. Traffic is the first thing that gets me fired up, and is 5 times out of 10, usually the last thing too.

Twin-cities, ever-expanding into a yuppie hell, while the cores of the cities rot further.

I've tried to look within myself, since I was born here...and find my old 'pride' in this place...it's really not there anymore. No amount of local history makes any real difference. I can't understand how or why anyone who moved here from up North can stand this place, much less actually admit they like it. I can't wait to leave it...to find some podunk town to settle down in...in peace and quiet...away from the abnormal congestion of life.

I don't necessarily need a big house or a 5-acre estate. You can have those things in the city and still deal with the hassle of feeling like you're in a sardine can. No...I just need distance.

Put another way, I think I understand why Obi-Wan Kenobi lived out in the Dune Sea...and it had NOTHING to do with watching over Luke or hiding his Force-signature from Darth Vader...