Sporty & The Game

From time to time I have amusing encounters with Sporty McSportsnut. You see, Sporty isn’t a single person, no, but many persons. He could be the guy in the bar, or the guy at the gas station, or the guy in the cubicle next to you at work. Tonight, he was the guy in the Italian restaurant where I took my lunch break.

As I walk into the restaurant I see a group of sportsfans in the corner sitting rather close to the only TV in the place–a 50ish inch old 4:3 rear project deal.

As you might expect, The Game is on. Because that’s the kind of place this is. And that’s what guys want to watch. It’s football, I can see that much. And that’s where my interest ends. I don’t care about football. I don’t care about sports. So I just sit down in the back of room and play with my mobile phone.

You know the guys, you’ve seen them before. Moustaches, sportsteam jerseys, pitchers of beer, drunk, loud, obnoxious, women with nowhere to run and no options–stuck with the sportsguys.

Just then, something fantabulous and awesome and exciting happens. The pack erupts into cheers and clapping. The men jump out of their seats and high five each other (or try to, rather, they missed). I glance their way, but say nothing. My face expressionless.

One of the guys, suitably drunk, takes a few steps towards my table. He notices that I didn’t join them in their revelry. He reveals a shit-eating grin. He smells blood, or so he thinks. A fan of the other team perhaps? A chance for him to ‘rub it in’, or something? Whatever, I never understood this part of The Game.

“Not a fan of the (insert name of his team here) I take it?” he asks, with his hands on his hips, shit-eating grin still on his face. Gloating, beaming, hoping to ‘get my goat’, or something. Fuck, I don’t know. Whatever, Sporty.

I look at him with a puzzled look on my face. “Huh? What do you mean?” Knowing full well what just happened in The Game, and what I’m about to do.

You see, there’s something you might not know about The Tom Bissell. I know how to push Sporty’s buttons. I know how to find that one thing that pisses him off, and then mash the fuck out of that button. I mean it. This is *my* version of The Game. This is how *I* play. It brings me great pleasure.

Sporty is still standing there, but now his shit-eating grin is gone. He cocks his head to one side and gestures over his shoulder towards the TV. “You know, The Game. The play. What just happened? You know?” shaking his head, exasperated.

His world begins to dissolve before his eyes. Could it be that someone on Earth doesn’t know or care about The Game? Even worse, could this guy sitting before him not know about football? Worse still, sports? Panic begins to set in.

And I’m trying so hard not to laugh. I love playing my game with the Sportys of the world. I’ve perfected my act through years of practice, you know.

“The game?” I ask.

“THE Game,” he replies. “Hello? This is planet Earth? THE GAME.”

I’m snickering hysterically inside. Snorting, even. And yet my face is icy calm.

“Oh, the game. Ha ha, oh, sorry, I, uh… I don’t care about football.” My words cut like a knife. He’s flabbergasted. He doesn’t know what to do.

“So, what do you like, chess?” He thinks he’s funny. He tries to relate football to chess. “So what just happened is, like, the guy just missed a field goal. It’s like, he lost his Queen.”

I don’t care about chess, either, and so he fails miserably. I shrug.

After awhile he gives up. I’m obviously not interested. Oh my fucking stars and gardens, this guy really doesn’t care about football. Shaking his head, defeated, he returns to the pack.

And I allow myself to smile, and enjoy the best raviolis I’ve ever eaten.

Housekeeping

Upgraded to the new version of WordPress. Should be transparent to everyone but me.

Spruced up my design. Made it slightly wider (designed for resolutions 1024×768 and above, so beware). Changed the fonts (I love Verdana). Fixed some annoying bugs in my code (that only I knew about, hopefully). Installed some new statistics gizmos that will let me know how many pageviews I’m getting and such. And some other stuffs.

OK, now I can sleep (yeah, right).

Should old acquaintance be forgot…

Happy New Year!

So this time I’m going to do a little something different. Instead of my normal resolutions to eat less, eat healthier, and excercise more–my resolution this year is to do a better job of connecting, reconnecting, and keeping in touch with old friends.

I can think of any time in my life and tell you who my friends were. But my life is e’er changing, and my friends come and go. Sadly.

People are constantly moving in different directions as their lives progress. Sometimes we grow apart from each other. This hard fact of my life is a lesson I’ve had to learn over and over again. It makes me sad. I miss my friends.

And so, to my long lost friends, you’re going to hear from me this year. You may even find me on your doorstep on evening.

Monica: we were so close for so many years. You always made the effort, you always called or sent me postcards from Yosemite. And I was a bad friend, I never wrote you once. Please forgive me.

Brian Calhoun: brother… we were so close once. Why haven’t I called in you in over five years?

AJ: I feel awful for never having visited you in your new home in Utah. You’ve had two children since I last saw you. I have no excuse.

Danny Boy: you moved back to New England, and now you’re back in SoCal? Why haven’t I been down to visit? I suck. We had a brief e-mail exchange last year–expect me to pick that back up.

My SoCal TKE brothers: Spicoli, Battag… I’m sorry guys.

Dahi: we were doing pretty good there for awhile, reconnecting and keeping in touch. Your website went down and you had a child and I graduated from college… and I have no excuse. I’m sorry.

Brian Morrison: what happened? How did this happen? We were two peas in a pod in high school. And now I haven’t talked to you in years, let alone seen you. This year that will change.

Janden B. Sullivan: you were the closest thing I had to a brother when I lived in Chico. Expect to see me this year.

And to my current friends:

Dave: I will not let this happen to us. An ocean seperates us now, physically, but not in spirit. You’ve been one of my best friends since we were 13 years old. I don’t want to wake up one day, 20 years from now, and wonder what ever happened to you. I won’t let that happen.

Da Son: don’t fucking disappear on me, dude. I know you’ve got your eye on Hawaii. You can go, but you won’t shake me so easily.

James: working with you over the last year has been great. So many times I’ve stopped by your desk just to chat, and you’re always there when I need a friend. I won’t be in Concord much longer, but I’ll make sure we stay connected.

And to all those I’ve failed to mention here:

I’m sorry. I’ve been a bad friend. I’ll make an effort this year.

… for Auld Lang Syne.