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Allow me to tell you the story of me and sports. Don’t worry, it won’t take very long. From an early age, my mother decided to shape her only son into a “man” through gifts of over-sized Redskins winter apparel. I could live with that because it was infinitely better than the bow ties forced upon me in earlier years. Something that was harder to accept was being enlisted in an actual sport. This isn’t recorded in any record books, but it’s true: I was the most apathetic defense soccer player in the history of the game. As halfheartedly as Daria plays volleyball, I did my best to be as unhelpful as possible. But that didn’t stop a hurtling ball from finding the side of my head. Stars! Just like in the cartoons! If I was a fictional being in a Hollywood movie, this would have been the part of the story where I became impassioned and fueled by the pain and made some memorable winning play or something. What actually happened is I cried a lot and the coach took me to the sidelines and then did that thing jocks do in movies where they rally an unwilling person into doing something they don’t actually want to do. “YOU GOT THIS! YOU’RE FINE! YOU READY TO GO BACK IN THERE???” I’m not exactly sure what I said, considering the head injury, but it was something in the neighborhood of: Hell no. That was the last day of my illustrious sporting career.
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