Things that are tagged athletics

On What’s Important in Sports

Posted on April 8, 2001 by Porter Mason

Ever watch a sporting event ever? Well, I have once or twice. Now, when you’re watching these things, you know when an injury happens, and they stop play, or stop the race, or whatever, and everyone’s standing around watching the guy who’s hurt lay on the ground, and we’re all waiting to see what’s wrong. And then, usually, he’s OK, or at least not too seriously hurt, and he walks off, and the announcer says this:

“Well, he looks like he’s OK, and that’s what’s really important.”

Oh, really? Is that what’s really important? Health? If that’s really so important, then I tell you what, why don’t we try NOT putting him a 300 mile an hour car and having him make sharp turns? Why don’t we tell the other team to NOT having their 400-pound guys jump up and down on his arms? Because, you know, I think that stuff (and I know this will come as a shock to all of you) but, well, I think that stuff endangers his health. And that’s what important, right?

If the health of professional sports players is so God damn important, then let’s tell them to stop playing sports. Tell them to stop being adored by millions. Tell them to stop getting $15 million dollars a minute. Tell them to stop having sex with 10 groupies a night.

Tell him to take care of what’s important.

So that’s my proposal. (NOTE: Only read the rest of this Thought if you are a big-time professinal sports player.)

Attention all big-time professional sports players: cease playing sports! You are apparently endangering your health! I know, we were shocked too. Yes, I know, we, the audience, are appalled by the fact that all these injuries were being caused by your sport. Yes, I agree, your health is much more important. So, yes, cease all sports!

Don’t worry about us; we’ll find ways to entertain ourselves. We certainly would have never let all this terrible sporting take place if we had known that’s how you guys kept getting injured. There’s plenty of other ways for us to be entertained. We can watch video tapes! In fact, I just got this free tape from Sports Illustrated. It’s called “The Century’s Best Sports Injuries.”

I hope all the sarcasm in this Thought wasn’t mentally damaging to anyone. It wasn’t? Oh, but no one thought it was funny? But everyone’s OK? Everyone’s healthy? Good. That’s what’s important.

Porter

On the Porpoise and the Hare

Posted on May 19, 2001 by Porter Mason

Once upon a time there was a hare who lived on a hill in beautiful meadow in a small little coastal town that, for the purposes of this story, was home to a great variety of animals who all had the gift of speech. The hare was a nice hare. A good hare. A physically fit and aesthetically pleasing hare. And even though he was the fastest hare around for miles, you’d never know it just talking to him. He didn’t brag. He didn’t boast.

“Boy, Mr. Hare,” the other animals would say in unison, “You sure are fast. You could easily race any of us and win, that’s no doubt. And on top of that, you’re so in shape and appealing to members of the opposite sex.”

“Now, now, other animals,” the hare would respond, “I’m certainly very appealing to members of the opposite sex. And I may be pretty fast, I guess. Oh, I may be able to beat you all in a race, but I’d sure never know. You see, I only run because it’s healthy. Did you know that just fifteen minutes a day of aerobic exercise will extend an average person’s life span by ten to fifteen years?”

Then the hare would hand out pamphlets about slowing your resting heart rate and creating a proper workout schedule. He would drone on and on for hours about how to eat right and the importance of adding strength training to a routine. At this point, several of the animals would usually slip out the back, hoping the hare didn’t see them. The hare had a way of belaboring his point. Then the hare would usually hand out a sign up sheet for a community morning run, and several animals would sign up, though none would ever show up the next morning. But the hare didn’t mind. He felt he was getting his message out, at least in a small way. And even if he wasn’t, at least he was still physically fit and very aesthetically pleasing.

Well, one day, as the hare was right in the middle of telling a small group of animals how to buy shoes with proper arch support, the tortoise came lumbering by. Now, everyone hated the tortoise. He was slow. He was wrinkled. He was ugly. He would always come around and try to tell other animals his message of how being “slow and steady” was the way to be. “Sure,” they’d say. “Then how come you never get any action, you ugly, slow monstrosity?”

These kind of comments drove the tortoise to drinking. And gambling.

On this particular day, the tortoise was on a particularly wicked bender, and he stumbled over to the hare’s gathering and exclaimed:

“Heeey you sssstupid hare…why don’ you jus’ shut up a second…why don’ yooooou jus’ shut up? Huh? Huh?!? You think you’re so hot…huh? You do, don’ yoooou? Well, why don’ you race meeee? Huh?!? Huh?”

Then the tortoise vomited and passed out. The other animals stared and shook their heads. It only goes to show you, they all thought, that ugly, slow animals like that are just sad, pathetic losers whose lives are going nowhere.

Then all the animals (except for the unconscious tortoise) took a trip down to the beach to visit the porpoise. The porpoise, like the hare, was very nice and very fast and very buff. The porpoise was very popular, just like the hare, except he was in the sea. So they got along very well because they never infringed on each other’s turf.

This day some of the animals were saying, “Hey, the hare and the porpoise are both so great and fast and attractive! What if they raced each other?”

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!” said the rest of the animals.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!” said the hare.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha h- wait,” said the porpoise. “What if, rather than race, since that makes no sense, you being a land animal and me being a sea animal, what if instead we both just went on separate, self-contained marathon-type things, me in the sea, you on the land, and we got sponsors, and raised money to help increase awareness about physical fitness?”

“What a great idea!” said the rest of the animals.

“What a great idea!” said the hare.

“Gurgle…gurgle….spit…” said the slow, ugly tortoise.

And so the two animals ran their individuals races, and awareness of physical fitness was increased, and they both won, and there were no losers (except all the fat and/or ugly animals who were huge losers and were obviously just not applying themselves or trying hard enough).

And the animals in that little coastal town lived happily ever after.

Except the tortoise, who was in and out of Gamblers Anonymous for three years and then had a series of loveless marraiges.

The End.

Porter

On Stolen Baseball Cards

Posted on December 3, 2001 by Porter Mason

Hey! John Lamberson! You total buttface. That’s right, I’m talking to you, John Lamberson. I’m talking to the John Lamberson who went to Alanton Elementary School with me. The John Lamberson who I considered one of my seven best friends in fifth grade. The John Lamberson who I laughed with. The John Lamberson who I cried with. The John Lamberson who sat next to me at the lunch table.

I’m talking to the John Lamberson who stole my freakin’ baseball cards.

Oh, don’t even pull that whole “What? I Didn’t Even…? What?” thing with me, John Lamberson. Don’t play like that. You stole them. You stole my entire baseball card collection.

March 13th. Mrs. Nash’s fifth grade class. Everyone, including me, was out back having recess. But not you. You were in our empty classroom. And you stole the red, plastic, floppy binder that was sitting under my desk. The red, plastic, floppy binder that was filled with over thirty sheets of baseball card holders.

I had Topps; I had Donruss; I had Fleer. I even had a few Leaf. I had All-Star Rookies. I had Rated Rookies. I had Rookie Sensations. My friend Stephen had even given me some old cards his brother had from the seventies. They were just commons, but still, 1973 Topps commons were listing at at least $0.15 in Beckett at the time.

But you took it all away, didn’t you, John Lamberson? You took it all away.

I’d worked months to put that collection together. I didn’t get an allowance, John. Did you know that? I just had to bug my mom to buy me a pack of cards every time we went to the 7-11. My poor mother. But you didn’t bother to ask about that, did you, John? You didn’t bother to ask anything at all. You just saw an opportunity during the touch football game at recess, asked Mrs. Nash if you could go to the bathroom, and pilfered another man’s dream.

Damn you, John Lamberson! And damn you, recess! You played right into his hands! Why did you have to be so near to the end of the day, recess?! John Lamberson was already on the bus by the time I even realized the binder was gone. Freakin’ John Lamberson. You assmunch.

Why’d you do it, man? We were friends. Good friends. I’d known you for three years. I was about to ask you to sleepover sometime that next fall. But in one fleeting moment…that was all gone, all forgotten. You just threw it all away, John Lamberson.

What was it? Was my baseball card collection that threatening? Did you think it looked better than yours? Was it jealousy? The cards weren’t even that great, damn it! I had old Topps commons along side Manny Ramirez rookies! The only thing remotely promising was a Todd Van Poppel High School All Star! And Van Poppel’s cards took a nosedive before he ever got to the majors! You really took a hit on my Van Poppel, didn’t you, John Lamberson? Good. I hope it hurt.

Or maybe it wasn’t jealousy. Maybe it was just…the perfect crime. You just couldn’t help yourself. You knew no one would see you. And you knew once you placed my cards in your binder, there’d be no way to tell you’d stole them. You had all the angles figured out, didn’t you? I know your kind, John Lamberson. Your kind makes me sick.

What did you think would happen, huh? Did you think I’d just stop collecting? Did you think I’d just give up? You were sorely mistaken, John Lamberson! My baseball collection rose like a phoenix from the ashes! I asked for a wax box of ’90 Upper Deck for my birthday that year, John Lamberson, and I got it! It delivered me to the promised land! Ken Griffey’s by the handful! John Olerud’s by the gross! Carlos Baerga’s by the truckload! I traded! I wheeled! I dealed! And by eighth grade, I had a collection that was the envy of all who saw it. You thought you ruined me, John Lamberson, but you just made me stronger. You made me…the King of Cards.

Then I got really bored of baseball and started collecting comic books. But that’s unimportant.

Anyway…I just wanted you to know, John Lamberson, that I know about what you did. I know you took my baseball cards. You dickwad.

What’s that, John Lamberson? Do I…? Well, no, I don’t have any concrete proof you took the cards, John Lamberson, but look at the facts, I think it’s-…. Yes, fine, no, but my point is-….

Hmm.

You were mainly into basketball. Not a bad…point. Michael Cohen was the big baseball guy. And come to think of it, he was also the guy who sort of suggested it was you who took the binder. I guess…wow, I guess you’re right, John Lamberson.

I guess I’ve learned a valuable lesson. I can’t just jump to conclusions about people. I can’t just castigate someone without first being sure of their guilt. Fair enough, John Lamberson. Your point is taken. I take back what I said about the great John Lamberson. I take back the years of seething hatred I’ve had for you and your family. I take it all back, John Lamberson. My friend: John Lamberson.

All right then. Now. On to other things.

Hey! Michael Cohen! You incredible fartlick….

Porter