I Love… Sports
Remember how I said I had a string of bad luck with relationships?
It started back in elementary school. My girlfriend was my cousin’s best friend. I did the elementary school thing and asked my cousin to ask Lady to go out with me. Lady said yes, on one condition: I couldn’t tell anyone at school.
So my first “relationship” had to be kept a secret. We talked on the phone, I delivered Valentine ’s Day gifts to her house, and when she stayed over at my cousin’s place, we hung a bit together. We never kissed or anything like that. But it was still important to me.
But the secrecy was killing me. I didn’t have much self-confidence in elementary school. I felt like everybody ganged up on me all the time, so I used to try and defend myself by exaggerating, which, by the way, never worked.
One clear example I remember was in the playground, a group of kids making fun of the way I smelled. I put gel in my hair back then, and I knew that’s what they smelled, but I didn’t want to admit this for some reason. They said I had stinky shampoo, and I responded that no, it couldn’t be that because I hadn’t washed my hair in a week.
As you can imagine, this only escalated things.
I don’t remember the circumstances, but I was trying to defend myself one time and I bragged about Lady being my girlfriend. It spread throughout the class, and got back to Lady. She was embarrassed and broke up with me a little later.
I remember the phone conversation. I didn’t have a phone in my room, so the only place I could go for privacy was my parent’s bedroom. She broke up with me over the phone, an d as soon as I hung up, I went out to the living room and decided sports would fill up my time. I got out the paper and read the sports pages for the first time in my life.
Now, I had been interested in sports for as long as I could remember, but I didn’t really follow it. I picked up names from friends and relatives, but I didn’t know anything. That afternoon was the beginning of the change.
It was also the beginning of my obsession with Major League Baseball.
It started back in elementary school. My girlfriend was my cousin’s best friend. I did the elementary school thing and asked my cousin to ask Lady to go out with me. Lady said yes, on one condition: I couldn’t tell anyone at school.
So my first “relationship” had to be kept a secret. We talked on the phone, I delivered Valentine ’s Day gifts to her house, and when she stayed over at my cousin’s place, we hung a bit together. We never kissed or anything like that. But it was still important to me.
But the secrecy was killing me. I didn’t have much self-confidence in elementary school. I felt like everybody ganged up on me all the time, so I used to try and defend myself by exaggerating, which, by the way, never worked.
One clear example I remember was in the playground, a group of kids making fun of the way I smelled. I put gel in my hair back then, and I knew that’s what they smelled, but I didn’t want to admit this for some reason. They said I had stinky shampoo, and I responded that no, it couldn’t be that because I hadn’t washed my hair in a week.
As you can imagine, this only escalated things.
I don’t remember the circumstances, but I was trying to defend myself one time and I bragged about Lady being my girlfriend. It spread throughout the class, and got back to Lady. She was embarrassed and broke up with me a little later.
I remember the phone conversation. I didn’t have a phone in my room, so the only place I could go for privacy was my parent’s bedroom. She broke up with me over the phone, an d as soon as I hung up, I went out to the living room and decided sports would fill up my time. I got out the paper and read the sports pages for the first time in my life.
Now, I had been interested in sports for as long as I could remember, but I didn’t really follow it. I picked up names from friends and relatives, but I didn’t know anything. That afternoon was the beginning of the change.
It was also the beginning of my obsession with Major League Baseball.
posted by deadwriter at 8:54 p.m.
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