An Ode To Sports

No guts, no glory.

 

To attain greatness, especially in the field of sports, (ha) you gotta have the balls to show up when it matters. And to show up when it doesn’t. To put in the work when the lights are on you, and put that shit in even harder when no one’s watching.

 

No guts, no glory, right? Wrong! Not if you’re a sports fan.

 

If you’re a fan then you just get to lay your sloppy ass right on the sofa – Mountain Dew in hand, Dorito crumbs laid across your flabby chest – and soak in all that ripe and juicy glory like you were right down in those trenches beaten and bloody kicking names and taking ass.

 

When your team pulls in that sweet victory you get to roll into work the next day repping your squad’s gear and talking non-stop shit to all the dumbasses that screamed, yelled, and got into fights with their wives over a different group of grown men throwing a ball around on the TV than you did.

 

“We smashed on you guys. We look like we’re gonna take it all.” Yeah. I mean you just dominated those guys that yelled and screamed at different guys than you. You totally had a hand in the beating that they didn’t at all actually endure.

 

And then the guys who yelled and screamed and got into fights with their wives over a different group of grown men throwing a ball around than you did actually feel bad about this. And before anyone gets all offended, look, I’m a sports fan. I don’t have a  wife but I would definitely get into a fight with her over grown men throwing a ball around on the TV, trust me.

 

But let’s get serious now. It’s all fun and games until someone’s team loses in a playoff/championship scenario.

 

Look, even though as a sports fan you have about as much control over what happens as you do of the sun rising and setting, there are real emotions in this shit. Like, when your team loses a big game, like say, the Superbowl, (hint, hint) it actually feels really bad. It feels like you were out there suffering with the players, toughing out those grueling practices, running those laps up and down the field, hitting those weights in the gym until you puked just so you could get the smallest ounce of an advantage over the opposition.  It tastes like real defeat.

 

It’s like you get yourself stuck in this shitty sports make-believe paradox. You put in zero real work but you feel all the pain of a real defeat. You’re humiliated, afraid to go outside. You slip off your jersey – the thing you wear with another grown man’s last name emblazoned across your back – and bury it in the bottom of the hamper, going with the excuse that your wife’s seven layer dip stained/ruined it. (Commence heated argument.)

 

You get a sick pit in your stomach every time you see the logo of your once proud franchise. The one that you have played exactly zero part in the existence of and would be in exactly the same state if you were to have never existed.

 

Some of your friends sympathize with you. Which somehow makes you feel even worse. How dare they patronize you? Some friends choose to kick you when your down, unaware of how dangerously close they walk to the edge of the valley of severed friendship. You get pats on the back and “maybe next year”s. Forget the players, who, you know, actually played the game. This is about you now. I mean, you were the one making sacrifices, right? All those times you could’ve played that video game, or rented that movie, or went to the gym, (yeah, that’s why you don’t work out) and instead you sat your dedicated and disciplined ass down on that couch and yelled at that TV as loud as your out of shape lungs could yell.

 

I mean, all those times your nerves of steel were put to the to the test? Those playoff games where the clock was running low, the score was almost out of reach, the temperature was nearing zero… and you sat there past your bedtime on that warm recliner, heart working harder than you ever have in your life, just so you could see that last minute touchdown to seal the win. I mean you earned that championship, right? You deserved it.

 

At least that’s what you try to tell yourself, because you know that the reality is much darker than that. You didn’t do anything. You didn’t sacrifice anything but DVR space. You worked, sure. But it wasn’t on the field or in the weight room, it was in the yard. Pulling weeds and edging the grass. Yet here you are, feeling like the world came crashing down on your dreams of sports super star glory.

 

And somewhere in between all the Facebook trolling, the office bullying, the dark urges that no one wants to admit they have about jumping ship to a rival, this is when you realize that you played yourself. You realize that all of the athletes that you’ve yelled and screamed at all season through the TV have millions and millions of dollars and all the women and fame you could imagine, and that you should probably stop crying yourself to sleep every night over the fact that they didn’t throw the ball around as good as the other millionaire ball throwers.

 

You realize this and after some deliberation, you sack up. You wipe off the Dorito crumbs, you order that treadmill on Amazon, and you start to pick up the pieces. You return to the real world.

 

Until next season that is.

 

Disclaimer: This isn’t about me. This is not about me at all. I’ll prove it, I mean I don’t have an office job, I’m not married, I don’t even have cable, I mean I’m— Dammit Jimmy G, why’d you have to overthrow Sanders?!?!?!?!!

 

 

 

 

Addressing Queefs

Are you the person who would go to an MMA fight and complain that it’s too violent?

Would you go to a scary movie and whine that it was too scary?

Are you the one that would go to a magic show, sit proudly upon your high horse, and use your keen intellect to inform everyone that the tricks are fake?

If you answered yes to any of those questions then 1.) Congratulations you’re a fart that comes out of a vagina and 2.) You also probably go to comedy shows and get offended.

Boring backstory: Over the weekend I attended a comedy show that was funny as balls. One of my favorite comedians headlined the show and it was an overall awesome time. The comedian that is one of my favorites is a pretty big name and he crushed the show with relative ease. However, there were quite a few up and coming guys who performed that had to work to win the crowd over. I’m sure you guys all know that comedians get heckled by people in the crowd which was no surprise to me. What did really make me start to sympathize with the idea of population control were the people who sat in their seats with scowls on their face and shook their heads in disgust at most of the jokes performed on stage.

Huh?

Why the tits are you at a comedy show? Better question, why did you pay money to be at a comedy show? Physically manifesting the fact that you’re wasting oxygen is free pal, do that at home.

These are the same people that write bad Yelp reviews because the steakhouse they went to didn’t have vegan crab cakes. If the joke isn’t funny to you, it’s very simple, don’t laugh. That’s all there is to it, guy. Don’t sit there and express your displeasure at the fact that you have 0 sense of humor and even your cat thinks you’re pathetic.

Comedians jobs are to try to make you laugh. Nothing they say should be taken seriously because they’re joking. 

“But that joke just went too far.”

No, you went too far. Too far out of your mom’s basement. Now head back.

Some people were sitting at this show looking as if they just shoved a handful of sour skittles in their mouth. You’re at a comedy show, not sniffing farts, dude. Oh wait, sorry, you are sniffing farts, because that’s the type of person you are. You pass gas and then pompously waft the particles into your own nostrils so you can dissect the aroma because that’s how arrogant you are.

The logic really escapes me on this one. It’s like attending a sports game of a team you hate just to root against them. If I’m a Packers fan I’m not gonna buy tickets to a Bears VS Eagles game just so I can sneer at the Bears every time they try to score points. But then again, I don’t drink my own urine because I like the taste.

Maybe I’m being a little too harsh on these people, I mean they’re obviously miserable and probably cry at night because they’re bullied on Tinder. But hey, I know it’s hard being offended. So here, let me use this next paragraph to show you just how much everyone cares.

Two is More Than One

Have any of you ever met or known someone that describes their personality with the words, “I like to have fun” ?

 

See, the thing about those words is that they make up quite possibly one of the most idiotically moronic statements ever conceived.

 

Oh, you like to have fun? Do you also eat food when you’re hungry? Do you breathe when you need air? That’s awesome, good for you!

 

What’s ironic about people who say this dumb shit is that they are trying to imply that they are an exciting and spontaneous person, when, in reality, I fall asleep due to a large-scale loss of brain cells immediately after I hear those words come out of their mouth.

 

“Yeah, you know, I just really like to have fun.”

 

No shit, Sherlock Holmes. It wouldn’t be considered fun if you didn’t like it. That’s the whole point. You needed to tell me that? What are the things you don’t like? Feeling sad? Being upset? What makes you laugh? Things that are funny? I mean, what the hell, dude. You are the absolute last person I would ever be around if I was trying to have a good time. You’re probably the type of person who warns others not to breathe under water. Or the type of person that steps outside during the day and is surprised enough that they have to announce, “the sun is bright!” Also, water is wet by the way, and ice is cold. Just clarifying.

 

Moral of this short little story here is that people are just so dumb, man. They make me so angry and I get really mad when I’m angry!

 

 

 

 

Let Me Get a Bite

You’ve just slaved away cooking up a delicious meal. Or maybe you went out and bought it with your hard earned money. You sit down with said glorious meal in front of you and prepare to dig in. You’re admiring the beauty of the object of food that is about to enter your mouth and take a ride on your taste buds. Right as the consumption party is about to commence, your idiot friend or family member says,

“That looks good, let me get a bite.”

This is bullshit. What goes through people’s selfish minds to where they come to the conclusion that that statement is acceptable, and won’t cause the person they are saying it to to have an imaginary murder session in their head?

In the grand scheme of things, what is one bite of my meal going to do for you? Is it going to nourish you? No. Is one measly bite going to satisfy your craving for whatever it is that I’m eating? No, you’ll just want more, which is happening over my dead body.

So, you must be asking because you just want to taste what I have, right? Well, I was the one who made or bought it, and seeing as I didn’t make or buy it for you, or ask you to taste it, maybe you should go make or buy your own. I’m not Bobby Flay and this isn’t a charity. I don’t care about your taste buds and their well-being. If you really want to taste something of mine I can arrange that, you’ll just have to let me finish what I’m eating.

That was shitty, I know. Pun intended.

If I’m eating a burger or a burrito or a sandwich, I’ll bet money I didn’t order it with saliva that isn’t my own. (Shout out to Taco Bell, it’s complimentary there.) That’s disgusting, and since that’s the scenario your proposing, you are also disgusting.

I mean dude, why are you asking me for a bite of my food? Are you homeless? Do you need a job? I can try to talk to some friends and maybe get you an interview or something, but in the meantime I’ll give you a few bucks and you can run down to Mickey D’s and get a Happy Meal, Jesus. You can even keep the toy.

I just can’t really grasp the logic on this one. Sure, sometimes when I see someone eating something that looks good, I want to eat it too. But, I don’t ask them if I can, I think that classifies you as a bum. Like, if your friend walked into your house with an attractive girl, would you say, “hey, she looks nice, let me get a turn”? Now that I think about it, some of you probably would. (If you have, I wanna hear the story.)

Anyway, the moral of this post: If you see me eatin’ a burrito and it looks good, keep walkin’.