On Little League, Athleticism and My Brief Stint as a Sports Antihero

Spring has sprung, my friends. The sun is out and the birds are singing. Flowers are blooming and bees are buzzing. Allergies are flaring and libidos are raging. And in parks across the country, little league teams are gearing up for a fierce season of competition.

Oh, how it all brings back memories.

Believe it or not, I was once a little leaguer. I had the mitt and the hat and the funny socks with the colored stripe on the side. I hit the park in the afternoon to practice and hit the diamond on the weekends for a good old fashioned game of baseball.

And, boy, did I hate it.

Anyone who has read Welcome to My Truth with any regularity knows by now that I am not the kind of person who wants to spend his free time chucking a baseball around a park. And that is not a new development. I was the same way when I was younger.

And yet, I did just that each spring. I chucked the stupid baseball around, wishing I could somehow burrow my head into the grassy acres of the outfield. I was never very good at baseball. Each practice was torture. Each game was pure hell. I was the kid who they kept way out in left field and who only went up to bat because there is some silly little league rule that says everyone has to participate. I would have been happy to sit on the bench and eat some nachos from the snack bar, thanks.

I didn’t just play baseball either. I ran track and cross country. I played soccer. I even, as short as I am, gave basketball a shot. Keep in mind that when I say I “played” these sports, I simply mean I was on a team that was forced to acknowledge my existence despite the fact we all knew I was not cut out to be an athlete.

As I got older, things got worse. It turned out that my sister was cut out to be an athlete. She excelled at all the sports I failed at, and even spent a summer playing water polo in order to show me up. As I was running in the wrong direction on the soccer field, she was hitting homers on the softball field.

But it was important to my parents that I was involved in something. The fact that I was obviously miserable was not the point. The point was that kids are supposed to be involved in such activities. It’s how they meet friends and learn about being part of a team. Or, in my case, it is how they find out that other boys are not nice to the girly kid who can’t throw for beans.

Thank goodness for the summer I found out about the opportunities awaiting me in community theater.

On Notches, Vinatieri and My Trip to Disneyland with the Kicker

Well, it is official. The dreams of every citizen of Chicago were shattered last night when the Bears blew it at Super Bowl XLI. I would say that they merely lost the game to the Colts, but from what I can tell, they actually blew it. Two back-to-back interceptions (one leading to a touchdown by the opposing team) is not Super Bowl material. The Bears needed to up it a notch and they didn’t. And now the city of Chicago cries.

 

And a little gay blogger such as myself pretends to know enough about football to say with an air of certainty that the Bears actually blew it. But man, they did. Didn’t they?

On the plus side, Colts fans everywhere can rejoice. Sadly, I don’t think there are any here in Chicago. And those of us who watched the game last night got to see Prince sing Purple Rain in the rain. That’s pretty special, no?

Another plus side is that my home will remain a happy one. I promised I wouldn’t make anything official until after the game, and now the game is over. This means I can finally tell the world that I have been shacking up with Colts kicker Adam Vinatieri for the last year. We are madly in love. And now that he just won the Super Bowl, I am sure he’ll be buying me something amazing.

And we are so going to Disneyland.

On Chaos, Sports and What is Bound to Happen when the Bears Play in the Super Bowl

Screw the lions. Screw the tigers. It’s all about the Bears, baby.

For those of you who have not heard (and knowing my fan base, it is likely to be quite a few), the Chicago Bears are heading to Miami to play their first Super Bowl game in 21 years. And for those of you who do not live in Chicago (which, again, is quite a few), you have no idea what a big deal this really is.

Everyone in Chicago is buzzing. It’s as if instead of snow this weekend, we had a storm of euphoria. Chicagoans take their sports very seriously. And they take one of their teams winning the NFC Championship even more seriously. Seriously.

I must admit that I did not watch the game yesterday. Being the good little gay man I am, I spent the bulk of the day at the museum. I did, however, make it home in time to see the last minutes of the game. I saw what matters, I suppose. I saw the Bears win and crush the dreams of the Saints.

And to think, they had God on their side.

I was happy for the Bears. And I was happy for the city of Chicago. I am, however, a little scared. For, you see, I can’t imagine any of this ending well.

If the Bears win the Super Bowl, there is bound to be more exuberant chaos than this city can handle. If they come up short, there is bound to be more depressive chaos than this city can handle. Either way, Chicago is in for a wild ride.

And I need to find myself some blue and orange to wear a week from Sunday.

On Fans, Screams and The Straight Man’s Madonna Concert

“Ooooooooooooooooooooooh!”

The scream, coming from three very grown men, awakes me from the nap I am desperately trying to sneak into my busy day. Even a man of my superior making needs a nap now and again. But today my nap is not to be. Today my nap has been interrupted by that which I know little to nothing about. My nap has been murdered by a sporting event.

My neighbor loves sports. I don’t know this because I have spoken to him. I know this because I hear him and his friends screaming. I used to wonder why this was happening, but then I put it all together. I realized that touchdowns and homeruns are very exciting to the straight man who lives just on the other side of bedroom wall. They are so important, in fact, that they cause him to yell in a most primal way.

I must admit that I can vaguely understand this instinctual need to roar. When the lights go down in an arena prior to Madonna appearing on stage, there is no force on Earth that could keep me quiet and in my seat. I just find it very funny that these macho straight men get so involved in a game that they essentially scream like little girls over it (minus, at times, the high pitch).

But I guess we all have our own personal Madonna concert.

On Olympics, Medals and The Race for the Hottest Olympic Hottie

The 2006 Winter Olympics are well underway in Torino, and the race for the gold is on.

Norway has taken an early lead by medaling in, among other things, the biathlon and freestyle skiing. But the United States and Russia are both hot on their tail. At this early stage, it’s anyone’s game.

There are still a number of competitions yet to play out, including big ticket items such as figure skating and downhill skiing. And the biggest competition of all has just begun to pick up steam. Just three days into the games and the race for the Hottest Olympic Hottie already has one clear contender for gold.

Chad Hedrick has already picked up a gold medal for the United Sates in speed skating, but that feat pales in comparison to his chiseled good looks and his unstoppable body. And it is that combo that has placed him at the top of the pack in pursuit of the elusive gold medal in the Hottest Olympic Hottie competition.

There is still a lot of gaming to go in these Olympics, and the medal could go to anyone. As more and more athletes come out to show the world their physical prowess, more and more Olympic hotties will be revealed. And one of these will be named the Hottest Olympic Hottie of 2006.

It’s a tight race, but it’s still anyone’s game.