The Beautiful Game

What is it about boys and their games?

And by games, I mean football - and other such manly sports ( though I find it hard to believe that folks can get overly obsessed with golf ). Ever since the first caveman decided to turn kicking rocks into a spectator sport, men have been endlessly engrossed in the game. Though most guys are now confined to their couches for the length of the game these days, that doesn't seem to have stemmed their growing enthusiasm.

Last weekend, my ISO and I happened to drop by a bar just as a game was playing - turned out to be a Manchester United vs Arsenal football game. I seriously wouldn't have known which team was playing if the droolsome Cristiano Ronaldo hadn't appeared on screen in short shorts. Now if you've never been to a sports bar during the sheer chaos of a much-anticipated game, you're certainly missing something. Each missed goal was followed by a chorus of hoots and catcalls from the raucuous backbenchers, all clad in their vibrant team colours to cheer on their respective teams. Overzealous referees were jeered and heckled at, feckless players had their dubious parentage questioned.


Let's play ball!
Always amazes me to see grown men ( or overgrown boys as the case may be ) weep, moan or generally throw a hissy fit over the erratic fortunes of their favourite team! Macho bastards who'd otherwise find it hard to shed a single tear at their own mother's deathbed would scream, wail and beat their chests akin to an inconsolable Indian widow.

For me, the closest I've ever gotten to being that passionate about the game - or any sort of game - was during secondary school. Not that I cared particularly whether we actually scored a goal during rugby but hell, I just loved to tackle the hottest boys.

Did I just say that?

Seriously, what better game but rugby to grab ( unlimited body contact with everything within reach! ) and tackle? Almost nothing is taboo in this game - and in an all-boys-school, it turns into a no-holds-barred barbaric melee over a ball. Must have been repressed inexplicable lust turned inside out since I channelled my horny hormones to brutal mindless aggression and managed to bruise some of the cutest hunks in school back then. I admit I sometimes like it rough.

Paul : You have the hots for that bitch Brenda when you could be having me? Now, taste mud, you scumbag!
Paul : How dare you praise that cow Linette to me! I'll dropkick you to the seventh level of heaven dammit!

Yeah, repressed.

Other than that, I steered pretty clear of sports. World Cup Fever would come and go with me pretty much unfazed by the entire mad circus. My football-crazy classmates would nod off during early morning lessons, their sad eyes droopy after staying up all night for their games but I found myself fresh and alert, ready to start collecting bets for the pool. Once they surfaced from their collective coma during recess, they'd talk endlessly about match scores and league placings while I wondered whether the hottie blond goalkeeper would be taking off his shirt at the end of the game. Since I knew absolutely nothing about the game, I found myself constantly placing bets on the underdogs praying hard for an unprecedented upset.

And in such games, upsets frequently happen :) So while the boys would sing mournful dirges for their loss, I'd be celebrating my unexpected win.