Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Draft #13
Never has my utter inability to tackle been more on display than it was a couple of Saturday's ago. I play in a co-ed two hand touch football league in Milwaukee, and I experienced one of the more pathetic moments of my life. I knew I wasn't good at tackling, like real football tackling. And I've never played flag football, but I'm pretty sure I would find ripping a flag off a moving object to be a daunting task for this most coordinated of the coordinated. Luckily what I did wasn't done in the presence of any of my former high school football teammates or coaches because had that happened, I would have been laughed out of the state and been ridiculed enough in the seconds following the play to last me a lifetime (assuming they've already stopped laughing from the fact that I play football with girls).
So here we go, the infamous play at hand. I was on defense, we had switched to a man-to-man coverage because the zone we were attempting to play was being penetrated like hot butter through a wet paper bag. We were hurting, and couldn't even stop the town's geriatric ward if they came strolling through, literally strolling mind you. The receiver I was guarding ran a fifteen to twenty yard route and the quarterback dumped the pass off to one of the female receivers in the flat. So I left my man and started to pursue the ball carrier. This was no average ball carrier. This lady didn't fly like a butterfly or even sting like a bee, hell, she probably went about two bills plus fifty. Maybe not that big, but she was big, and was short, and she waddled, and was probably in her forties. As I was approaching her from her left, I remember thinking to myself, "Where am I going to tag this wildebeest?" It was either going to be in her massive chest, or right in her face. And in my moment of haste, the broad planted and cut across the direction I was moving, and I completely whiffed. She managed to truck another ten yards until the next defender was able to corral this rumbling rhino with a pigskin tucked firmly between her right boobie and beer gut. There wasn't a rock big enough to crawl under at this point, and I felt the shame of a hundred men who had just been caught with their pants at their ankles, watching scrambled porn. I got juked by a middle aged women and I'm pretty sure this elevator has reached the room that lies just below the basement. Should've gone with the three inch cleats!!
I guess I received another crushing blow about a week or so ago. I'm at work, minding my own business, when the operator who's located behind me, decides to ask one of those questions you should probably think twice about asking, if you're unsure of the answer you are about to receive. This question is up there with the, "Are you pregnant?" question. This lady had the sizeable sac to ask if yours truely was gay, as in homosexual. The flippin nerve of this lady!! I don't have an once of gay on me! Sure, I can cook, and I don't like it when my room is messy, and my voice can get a little high when I'm trying to be nice, and I've only had one girlfriend, and I'm not good with tools, and I'm not handy with the internal components of an automobile, and on casual Friday's I sometimes wear jean shorts that used to be jeans, but I cut into shorts with my own scissors. But other than that, where are these accusations coming from? You know, not every guy with stunning eyes and a barrelled chest can be assumed gay. It's just not fair. Any who, the switchboard is staffed predominately by females, and the accuser used to work in a different department at our company and apparently there used to be a gay, male operator before I started working here. Still, how much can one guy take, but I guess that would explain me not being able to tackle a slow moving object on a football field. I wasn't able to extend my limp wrists out fast enough or something.
I would also like to make it known that my roommate and I are holding open tryouts to anyone willing to clean our bathtub. For all of you detectives out there, my roommate is a male and he has a girlfriend, so back off. The tub is starting to turn colors and I'm having trouble identifying some of the bacterial formations. I think if we were to let this go any longer, unidentified life forms may start taking shape in there and it probably wouldn't be long until they started to form a civilization of sorts and took us as their prisoners. All you really need to qualify is a short pair of shorts and the ability to look good when bending over, and yes I'm referring to females. Apply in person only please, and thanks for your anticipated interest.
T-shirt slogan: "Who wants to do this buckaroo?"
# posted by hucklebuck @ 12:03 PM 
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I'm not sure how looking into mirrors makes me gay? But I can see how grabbing guys in the crotch during high school for fun, can be construed as possibly being a tad bit gay. (Not pointing any fingers, but Vin, I am looking in your direction)
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