dagblog - Comments for "I know Why the Caged Man Cries for Sports"

It's true that we are prone

ocean-kat — Thu, 07 Jan 2021 05:59:27 +0000

It's true that we are prone to tribalism but what healthy groups have been taken away from them? It seems to me they're all still there

Humans, but perhaps

artappraiser — Thu, 07 Jan 2021 05:33:44 +0000

In reply to I know Why the Caged Man Cries for Sports

Humans, but perhaps especially men, need the meaning and excitement which they get from belonging to competing coalitions. If we take healthy and disciplined groups from them, then they will create less healthy alternatives. Sports and country are better than riots and factions.
— Bo Winegard (@EPoe187) January 7, 2021

Someone's working your scam

PeraclesPlease — Sat, 01 Aug 2020 08:22:13 +0000

In reply to I know Why the Caged Man Cries for Sports

Someone's working your scam

Should i tell them it's taken?

If the New Yorker Union goes on strike I intend to scab against Andy Borowitz. I will write his articles for half pay. I will write whatever they want. I have nothing to lose. pic.twitter.com/P2Gj3OdD7V
— Don Hughes (@getfiscal) July 30, 2020

Bob Costa reports. Just

artappraiser — Wed, 29 Jul 2020 01:24:56 +0000

In reply to I know Why the Caged Man Cries for Sports

Robert Costa reports. Just pointing it out; discuss amongst yourselves.

For me was perhaps like

PeraclesPlease — Tue, 28 Jul 2020 05:17:00 +0000

In reply to As a kid, I was tormented by

For me was perhaps like losing my baby teeth, except in stages through college and just after. (never really played organizér sports, more pickup games). Can do some of the Olympics sports. Soccer? Forget it... Sure, I can fan, but why? No better entertaiment, leftover Y chromosomes?

As a kid, I was tormented by

Michael Wolraich — Tue, 28 Jul 2020 02:18:23 +0000

In reply to I know Why the Caged Man Cries for Sports

As a kid, I was tormented by the mystery of the spiraling football. At recess, the other boys would take turns as quarterback, hurling that ungainly ball in an impossibly long, elegant arc. Whenever I tried to throw it, the thing wobbled like a drunk pigeon and thudded sadly in the grass. Baseball wasn't much better. I couldn't even hit a damn tee-ball. No eye-hand coordination.

I grew up in Iowa City, where most men and many women are Hawkeye crazy. We lived down the block from Kinnick stadium. On Saturday mornings, hordes of black-and-gold painted Hawk fans promenaded down the street on the way to the football game. We used to sell them lemonade and cookies for 10 cents. When the Hawks scored, we could hear the cheers from our living room. But we never actually attended any games. My dad wasn't into sports, at least not enough to pay $20 or whatever it cost for a ticket. I got to see a couple of free pre-season scrimmages, but I only attended one actual football game--as an usher with my Boy Scout troop.

The only exception my dad made was wrestling. He'd been a wrestler in high school until he broke his thumb. The way he talked about it, I thought that he'd wrestled a couple years. Later, I realized that it had only been a couple months, and he'd never even had a match. I guess it made an impression though because he took me to wrestling matches at the old Field House, where the Hawks used to wrestle in a gymnasium with retractable bleachers. They were good, though, the best in the country. And the tickets were much cheaper.

As it turned out, wrestling was the one sport that I was halfway decent at. Not at first. In 7th and 8th grade, I usually ended up with my shoulders on the mat. But something clicked freshman year. I was quick and strong, at least for a 112 pounder. I discovered that if I shot in for a takedown--straight and fast and hard without hesitation--I could usually tangle my opponent's legs and take him to the mat. There is something glorious in winning a tough match--alone on the mat before a cheering crowd, so fatigued that it hurts to breathe, as the ref holds your arm in the air to declare you the winner. But pinning people always made me uneasy. I could feel their humiliation as I held their shoulders to the mat.

I had a lot of pins during my first two seasons in high school and barely lost a match. But that was JV wrestling, which is as far as I went. Varsity wrestlers are nuts, especially in Iowa. They spend all their time training, on and off season, and stunt their bodies by cutting weight. I had other interests--debate, drama, eating food. So I gave it up, now it's just a fond memory.

Spectator sports remains foreign to me, though. I enjoy watching football and a few other sports, but I don't much care who wins. I could never understand how people, men especially, become so invested in the games. I don't say that disparagingly. Many of my friends are passionate sports fans, including some former dag co-bloggers. But it's like the mystery of the spiraling football, some Y-chromosome gene I lack that keeps me sidelined while the other boys play.

I had to go to dance class.

PeraclesPlease — Mon, 27 Jul 2020 17:39:00 +0000

In reply to I know Why the Caged Man Cries for Sports

I had to go to dance class. Finally a half century later I feel Ive found my redemption. There is no toxic tutu-linity to fight off. I am whole again. Plus there's no problem watching Swan Lake on widescreen home Cinema rather than The Met. Where's the remote?