I’ve been re-inventing myself after the soul shattering and untimely demise of my grandson. As mentioned in my previous post I’m in the red lava angry phase of letting go. Fueled by this anger I’ve decided to be brutally honest about a subject that seems downright silly to get worked up about in the grand scheme of things. But so what? This is my one and only life. I’ve used up 59 years of it already and I’m not wasting any more of it doing things that I hate to do.
So here goes; I HATE “TEAM” SPORTS. To me it is a violent brutal activity witnessed by a crazed mob, similar to goings on in the old Roman coliseum. I’d rather crawl on my belly naked across a field of broken glass with a rusty spoon in my eye than watch it, talk about it, speculate on coming events, chose sports memorabilia, or give the tiniest bit of a rat’s ass about it.
Why don’t I just avoid it you may ask? Well here’s the deal. I married into a band of in-laws who are all sports fanatics and seem to think that there is something odd and unsavory about a person who is not interested in sports. They all seem to think that if they just explain how wonderful it is that I will eventually have some sort of epiphany, or personality transplant and see the light.
Also every year Mr. Husband and I are given tickets to various sporting events as Christmas presents so I’m supposed lie to myself and them and pretend to be all grateful and write thank you cards for something that I get the rolling heaves even thinking about. It seems like I’m participating in a big fat charade at my expense.
To me it’s a point of principle. I’ve been with Mr. Husband and his band of merry relatives for ELEVEN years now. One would thing that my ongoing statements that I’m not in to sporting events would have sunk in by now, but NOooOo. I know Hubman wants to us to have something that we like to do together. Violent seething screaming crowds of people foaming at the mouth about who stuffs a ball in some opening or across some line, or in a net, is just not my cup of tea. Now I’d be down for a punk rock slam dance fest complete with crowd surfing. But that’s too up close and real, can’t do that from your kingly EZ boy lounger, or sitting up in the bleachers. You gotta get down in there and do it all out.
To me there is a time and place for violence and “having fun” is not one of those times. The time and place for violence is reserved for a situation where actual violence is called for because it has actually erupted. Examples; suddenly finding yourself swept up in an angry mob that you have to fight your way out of, some idiot comes through your front door with an ax, a crazed car jacker tries to pull you out of your car by your hair, etc. (I actually experienced the attempt to drag me out of the car by my hair thing. It was not fun, but I got away – minus a hand full of hair)
So there ya have it. I hate team sports. So sue me. So sorry Mr. Husband, I know this is a big disappointment to you, but I’ve been trying to tell you this for 11 damned years. It’s not my fault that you don’t listen.