The monkey made me do it

Not a Jock

Somehow, in the midst of an incredibly painful junior high period punctuated by shyness and isolation from society, I decided that it would be a great idea to play sports. It didn't matter to my adolescent mind that I wore thick glasses and braces, and that I only really had three friends (who didn't play sports at all), I was determined to explore the world of uniforms and sweat and yelling and camaraderie and unfounded aggression towards those who I'd previously ignored and who had previously ignored me.

I joined volleyball, basketball and track. My parents were supportive, but confused (I'd never shown an interest in strenuous activity and was in all honesty a little soft around the edges). It was frightening to jump headlong into the pre-formed jock cliques, which in my school were almost entirely made up of blonde girls with ratted hair and shiny eye makeup. I had the misfortune of being good at volleyball, which meant that I had to leave the safe JV and Frosh levels filled with my geek counterparts and play with the higher-level popular kids who didn't make eye contact with me. Good times. I finally made one friend, another unfortunately talented less-than-popular girl, and we passed the time by developing complicated "pinky switch" patterns and secret handshakes to transfer me to my designated setter position with the maximum amount of effort on our parts (had to keep entertained somehow, Lord knows the other girls weren't talking to us) and the maximum amount of frustration on the coach's part.

Luckily I sucked at track and was able to make some friends on the sidelines as we watched the cool kids huff and puff their way around the field. I was fast, but not fast enough to be a sprinter. I was coordinated, but somehow never managed to make it through an entire track of hurdles without knocking too many over. I ended up doing the shotput, the sport of bull dykes and gigantic men. I was 5'4" and probably weighed 115-120 lbs. with long hair down to my waist. It was a joke that I even competed, but I enjoyed trash talking and didn't mind when my little ball went maybe 1/3 of the distance of the next-nearest throw. I developed complicated tossing rituals and became something of a legend for having the most entertaining but worst record in the school.

Basketball was horrible. I was roughly at elbow level with my teammates, and Mugsy Bogues hadn't yet appeared to redeem the value of short players. I only lasted a season, and decided that the danger of my own teammates' flying elbows in addition to the danger of being run down by the opposing team (who never seemed to see me) was not worth the rare joy of a swooshed shot.

In high school I lost the glasses and braces, and discovered the unique appeal of soccer. Volleyball was all right, but during my sophomore year the team switched from short-shorts to "dance pants", which were basically swimsuit bottoms. The attendance at games went up dramatically. I quit in protest, not willing to dive on a hard wooden floor in my skivvies or know that anywhere from 50-100 people directly behind me were staring at my ass.

Soccer is a sport for the outcasts, for those not tall enough to spike a volleyball or dunk a basketball, not hand-eye-coordinated enough to hit a softball, not quick enough to run down a sprinter. I loved it, and loved the tremendous variety of people it drew. Our team had a horrible record and lost almost every game, so the pressure of competition was completely off of us. We had contests to see who could scare the other team the most via hairstyles (I did Coolio-style dredlocks with my long hair and painted them our colors for one game. Nobody came near me). We invented complicated running patterns that accomplished nothing besides a twisted soccer version of synchronized swimming. We learned how to do the YMCA choreography with our airborne feet on the school bus.

I never scored a goal, never entirely learned the rules of the game even though I was on the Varsity team (offsides? I'm not sure I still know what that means). I was a defender and was fast enough to keep up with most forwards, but couldn't run with the ball to save my life. If I ever ended up with the thing, I'd flip out and boot it like a hot potato to the nearest open teammate, not breathing until it was safely far away from me again. I grew to be a good defender, if not a little on the violent side (who knew sports could be such a bad influence?). I had a rivalry with a girl from our neighboring town after she slide-tackled me once and knocked me in the mud. I got her back and kicked her so hard ("oops, I missed the ball!") that she did a complete flip and landed on her back, winding her and leaving a huge bruise. I got a yellow card and a lecture, but the coach was smiling.

Now I do yoga and save my kicking and bursts of violence for the aggressive boys at the clubs.

posted by LadyJay @ 10:24 AM