The Beautiful Game

Soccer. Or Football. If you’re reading this in Europe or just feeling slightly pretentious today. I have tried to watch soccer many times and have tried my hardest to appreciate the beauty in it, but I still find it incredibly boring. I have never physically attended a soccer game but I imainge it would be even worse than watching it on a 30 inch TV screen. At least when you watch it on TV you can score some close ups of those pretty men’s faces and tight butts. Clearly, for me, soccer isn’t beautiful because of fancy footwork…

Despite the fact that the average soccer player is 400 times better looking than any other athlete, I can’t stand how dramatic these men get when they play. Its like watching a high school cat fight. Clothing gets yanked, hair gets pulled, arms flail spastically. And someone always ends up rolling on the ground in the fetal position crying (this was how I always ended my high school cat fights…).

If anyone understands drama – its me. Just last week, my boyfriend denied my request to sleep at his place and I think I said something like “Well, just letting you know that it is your fault when I get frost bite on my toes tonight because it is so cold in my house. I will freeze and die in my sleep and that is going to be on you. So I suggest you find someone else to love because my impending doom is upon you.” I don’t think anyone would blame him for wanting to find someone else to love, considering this is not the first time I have gone to such an extreme to get my way. But that is acceptable for crazy girls right? Not acceptable for gorgeous grown man soccer players. Just sayin’.

Perhaps my dislike for soccer goes deeper than that. When I watch, I am reminded of the painful year that I spent playing rec soccer in 2nd grade. I was the goalie so I choose not to take responsibility for any of our scoring stats. Well…our scoring STAT. We scored one goal the entire year. ONE GOAL. I still haven’t recovered from the shame. Soccer was just never a sport that was meant for my gene pool. I’d like to evidence this by submitting exhibit A: my brother and I as kids.

Image

I was never good at quick sports because I retained most of my baby fat until the age of 18. And my brother? Well he was always interested in other things. Like making clocks and collecting pens and ancient Chinese relics. My brother also had a stint as a soccer goalie. During crucial moments of the game, he could be found picking dandelions and blowing them into the air. Or making a pretend AK-47 out of his hands and blasting away bees and flies. Needless to say, my brother and I were never destine for athletic greatness.

I think I am too far gone to ever love “the beautiful game”.

Advertisements

About Melissa Faulkner

1. If I blog, someone will eventually discover me. 2. If someone eventually discovers me, I will become rich and famous. 3. If I blog, I will become rich and famous. Follow me for shorter, daily doses! @melisslyss
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s