20160616 (fan-atics)

Paid $1K for seat, has only mildest connection to team, doesn't own stock, maybe has bet on outcome, he's about to precipitate a heart attack, girl sitting in front is embarrassed for him

I was not cut out to be an

Athlete. In childhood I had 

Poor eyesight, no endurance.

Getting glasses didn’t improve

Matters much. My colleagues,

Having past the age of fumbling

To develop a basic proficiency

With their bodies, were loathe

To put up with my gangliness

Once I began to compete. When

Teams were chosen I was the last

Selected and groans went up

Among my fellows that they

“Had” to accept me on their

Side. It was like their realizing

That I meant losing—balls didn’t

Get caught, pitches didn’t go

Where intended, and with me

At bat, those loaded bases

Would retire unfulfilled. My

Pre-spectacles adventures I 

Have already often related—

Catching any type of ball with

Your face kinda knocks the 

Love of sports right outta ya.

Phys ed in high school proved

No better. I could not run the

Twenty-two laps around the 

Gym that constituted one

Mile. That’s where I learned

Coming in last is far preferable

To not coming in at all. My

Talents lay elsewhere—math,

Science, literature, history.

But to exhibit any pride in

Academic achievement swiftly

Earned you religious chiding:

Pride, the good brothers hastened

To tell me, Goeth before a Fall.

Which I thought unfair as 

Prowess in sports was lauded

Universally and with it came

More than a little Joe Jock

Fatheadedness nobody but I

Found offensive. What was I 

To tell the snobby touchdowner,

“Meet you after school in the 

Parking lot where I’ll spell

Your ass off”? The school didn’t

Have rallies for the debate team,

The chess club, the math or

Science competitors, but they

Had them for football and

Basketball. The fandom at games

Scared the heck out of me (I

Cleaned that up at the last minute

Because I’m planning a piece

On foul language). People were

Calmer at Nuremburg Nazi

Parades. One kid next to me

Shook the fence where we were

Watching, the veins on his head

Threatened to pop every pimple

On his teenaged pizza face—I

Wisely stepped away. So now 

You can see why I don’t identify

With sports of any sort (although

I confess I’ll watch women’s

Swimming and diving for reasons

Having nothing to do with 

Athletics). When the city’s

Engaged in their municipal

Madness with Hollywood’s

Stars are flying in for the 

Competitions, you’ll likely

Find me off in a corner with a

Book, reading quietly as usual.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016