I’m not that into sports. Okay, that’s an understatement– I fucking hate sports. I don’t think they’re fun to watch, the games last way too long, and I never really understand what’s happening. I’m the girl who you hate for reinforcing the stereotype that girls just don’t get sports. I even made it four years in an SEC school without managing to go to one single football game, which I consider an impressive feat. I guess I can understand the appeal, but I never managed to feel anything other than impatient when it came time for a big game. Impatient for it to be over, so we could booze over the win, or booze over the loss.
I do, however, like boys. Which is why I constantly find myself surrounded by riled up sports fans who tailgate hard in preparation (something I can totally get behind), and then throw massive male bitch fits when their team doesn’t win (an idea that is scientifically proven to be dumber than the Shakeweight). I used to feel enticed by the crowds of passionate, angry men, but after getting used to the noise and realizing that all the fuss is over two guys fighting over a mangled pig carcass, the whole thing lost its appeal. Plus, my attention span is roughly the same as that of a goldfish, so sitting through three hours of intense competition isn’t something my brain is equipped to handle.
But I’m a writer, as well as a serial overthinker, so I had to figure out why guys always go so nuts over sports. So on Monday, as I sat with my boyfriend through a never-ending NFL game, I studied the players, the refs, the spectators, and the man on the couch next to me who kept screaming “KILL ‘EM YOU BASTARDS!” And then I had an epiphany: every single sport is just one big sexual innuendo.
It sounds nuts, but hear me out. What’s the basic premise of almost every single sport? To get it in. Think about it: Soccer? Get the ball in the goal. Baseball? Get yourself into home plate. Football? Fight other men, and then get into the endzone. Basketball? Get it in the net. Golf? Your classic “hole,” because golfers have so much swag that they don’t even try to call it something else. All of these athletes, like every other male in existence, have one goal: to get it in.
This could explain why I don’t really give a shit about sports, as a heterosexual female who has no desire to get it in anywhere. This also explains why guys care so much, as they, too, have spent large amounts of time trying to get it in. I guess you could say that every guy is living out his own personal game; the game of life, where you wander around aimlessly until you find someone dumb enough to let you stick it in.
Honestly, this whole revelation changes everything. Now when I see guys going crazy over a big game, all I can see is a herd of testosterone-ridden, sexually driven peens trying their best to live vicariously through their athletic boy crushes who they’re dying to see quite literally score. It almost makes me hate sports less, because even though football is something I’d never experience first hand, we can all resonate with some harmless banging from time to time. If I had always known that sports were a euphemism for sex, I might have attempted to give it a chance. I guess now is as good a time as any, and anyone who has seen “40-Year-Old Virgin” will tell you it’s never too late to start. .
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