1. Maybe I Won’t Send My Future Children to Sports Camp, After All.
When I was younger, I played a ton of sports. Now I watch them on TV. This is just how life works when you have a busy schedule, take up smoking, and realize that the Nike billboards have lied. You probably are not “Bigger.Better.Faster.Stronger.” No matter how hard you try, you almost certainly won’t be good enough to play a sport professionally. I guess that’s when you take your self-deprecation to law school… I digress.
I learned valuable lessons from sports: the importance of teamwork; the payoff of commitment; the relevance of Jock Jams to the 20th Century. I even spent many fun summers turning my mediocre skills into athleticism. Kudos to my parents, right? WRONG. In hindsight, it would appear that the Bed Intruder was right: they be rapin’ everybody out there.
My kids can’t be altar boys. They can’t be, well, losers. And now THIS? What’s left? What happens when they turn 13 and I just want to spend a week in Cabo with my middle-aged friends, drinking Margaritas? I can’t ship the kids off to basketball or football camp without fearing they’ll end up on To Catch a Predator. Here I thought the only YMCA shower advice I was going to have to pass along was “Always wear your shower shoes!” Ugh. Come on America. Get your sh*t together.
2. In a Shocking Turn of Events, I Discover I Actually Do Like the NBA.
You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone, or something like that. If I’ve learned one thing from the NBA labor dispute, it’s that I would rather watch basketball than sit idly on my couch – hoping Versus is actually airing one of the NHL games – than go through the winter/spring months without some viewing alternatives. Baseball is great. Football? Even better. But the wait from the Super Bowl ‘til March Madness is pretty unbearable as it is.
At the beginning of time, God invented the NBA. Ever since, lucky children everywhere have had the opportunity to purchase basketball sneakers, be forced into slave labor because of them, or trample their peers in an attempt to acquire the prized footwear. Clearly, basketball is important to our future. And I’m happy everyone can finally agree on that. For now.
I enjoy hearing the squeaking of the shoes on the court. I actually look forward to Kobe Bryant’s post game comments. I like to remember a time where it was just “NBA,” and there were no letters such as “W” placed before the already-fine acronym. Plus, I’d rather SportsCenter have something interesting to talk about. I’m sick of them regurgitating Tweets.
As my boyfriend says (and I guess this is pretty awful?): “Basketball is like that girl at the bar at 1 a.m.” I think what he means is that you probably won’t care if she comes home with you, but it’d be a lot cooooler if she did.
3. Marathons: Good for Ego, Bad for Attractive Legs
After successfully completing a few races, I am happy to say I’ve hung up my Sauconies. I’ve replaced my fitness regimen with steady diet of rage, Pinot Grigio, and the occasional Skittle. I’ve lost about 18 pounds and I actually resemble a female again.
4. It Turns Out That Extremely Dangerous Sports Are, in Fact, Extremely Dangerous.
I’ve always said that in order to be a professional athlete, one should be required to take at least one Personal Finance class (See: Scottie Pippen, Johnny Unitas, Mike Tyson, etc.). However, I’ve added another prerequisite to the “So, You Wanna Be a Professional Athlete?” curriculum: Physics 101.
I don’t know what makes people think doing stupid sh*t is ever a good course of action, but Charlotte Russe is still in business and ignorant philanthropists everywhere are still wondering if that Nigerian prince they helped out is “back on his feet.” To that point, a**holes across America still participate in XXXXtreme ridiculous “sports” such as racecar driving and twirling around in the air on a motorcycle, which I believe is called “Motocross.”
Here’s a good rule of thumb: if the average education of the crowd is less than or equal to 10th grade … probably not the smartest sport to partake in.
Recall: Travis Pastrana (yes, everyone who competes in the X Games is named Travis). In July, Mr. Pastrana (hereinafter referred to as “Brah”) embarked on his “Nitro Circus Live” show. I have a couple preliminary problems with Brah. First, he clearly does not respect WCW. Further, he is a goddamn moron. Here is what my weekend plan usually looks like: Coors Light; SportsCenter; dinner; couch; sleep; repeat. Here is his idea of a good few days: compete back-to-back in Best Trick and Freestyle events (X Games – LA); fly to Indianapolis to make NASCAR debut; return to LA to compete in RallyCross (X Games – LA).
Long story short: he kept hurting himself.
Then we have Dan Wheldon, who people were surprisingly upset about. “He was a good guy … a charmer,” they say. Unlike all those not-so-charming starving African children who die every day, Mr. Wheldon died in the IndyCar finale while driving approximately one million miles per hour, participating in a sport where he assumed most – if not all – of the risk. I imagine he felt a lot like Will Ferrell in Talladega Nights, except no one was laughing and he probably really was on fire.
USA Today articulately reported that Wheldon “drove into a tangle of cars careening off each other in every direction.” I’ve done a lot of stupid sh*t in my life, but if anything is ever careening off of anything else, I’m almost positive I wouldn’t head into the clusterf*ck face-first.
5. Rob Gronkowski Is So Great.
From the moment I saw this guy’s first press conference, I knew I wanted to be his best friend. I took one look at him, and thought: “This is a man who loves keg stands.”
Gronk was a model sleeper pick. When it comes to football players, it’s rare to see someone so versatile (and beastly) stay so healthy; it’s exciting to watch someone so young break those kinds of records. Furthermore, it doesn’t make sense when one of a quarterback’s biggest targets actually evades coverage, week after week. Plus, he’s a tight end, for crying out loud!
Then, he went and put the icing on the cake: in an attempt to get more Twitter followers (clearly, the most important of the records he was seeking to break), he took a few pics with another tight end, porn star Bibi Jones. The aspiring actress (?) did the unthinkable: she posted a few pictures on her Twitter, wearing Gronkowski’s #87. Don’t bother Googling her. She looks like she is from Daytona. Regardless, Mr. Gronkowski somehow took heat for … making a porn star put clothes … on? I don’t get it either, but if there is one man who can accomplish the unimaginable, it’s Rob Gronkowski.
I’m sure 2012 will have more to offer than a potential Armageddon, skyrocketing unemployment rates, and !!All New!! Glee episodes. Just imagine the possibilities; look at all the great things I learned in 2011.