Friday, September 11, 2009
I am currently experiencing sports overload. Too many seasons are converging and on more than one occasion I have screamed, “Tom Brady throws a pass to Krejci who hits a home run over the Green Monster!!” And then my boyfriend wakes me up, tells me that I’m doing “it” again, and then says, “So have you heard about Seymour getting traded?” followed by, “Papi just hit a home run!” And then my head explodes.
All I’m saying is that it’s tough work keeping up with all the sports news. I was getting used to watching just one sport, and now I’ve got football, hockey, and basketball (if I can stand the shoes squeaking for more than 5 minutes). These aren’t just any sports teams either. These are Boston sports teams. I’m not going to have any hair left come the spring. Plus, the Red Sox are still fighting for the wild card. I’m thrilled for the added fun of fall and winter sports.
Meanwhile, my boyfriend is sitting on his computer with Boston.com, NESN.com, and ESPN.com open, hitting refresh at a feverish pace. All of the information he acquires from the interweb will later be discussed with his friends or me. Usually it’s me since I tend to land directly in his sports-news-spewing path quite often.
Now, this brings me to what I really want to talk about: the fact that men have a sports chip implanted in their skulls.
You guys, I’m not even being sarcastic. I think I may actually believe this.
Exhibit A: The Boyfriend
The Boyfriend loves video games, writing, comic books, and sports. Somewhere in his English Lit-filled head there is space for all the aforementioned interests as well as a multitude of handy sports trivia. This includes events that happened before he was born. How? The Sports Chip.
Want to know which team the Red Sox lost to in the 1967 World Series? Want to know more about Bobby Orr than Bobby Orr himself? Want to know which round Brady was drafted in?! Call him up, he’s be happy to tell you. My earlobes are constantly accosted with stats, facts, and then… comic book news. AND he still remembers our anniversary. It’s all very strange.
Granted, The Boyfriend has enough free time to constantly refresh his brain with this information. BUT, I give you…
Exhibit B: The Father
The father loves sports, sports, sail boats, and sports. He teaches high school chemistry, coaches high school football, and coaches lacrosse at Merrimack College. Oh, and in his spare time he slings around nail guns doing contracting work. Oh, and in his spare, spare time he fixes my poor, decrepit, duct-tape car.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. He coaches multiple sports teams! Of course he knows about sports! No. This man could write a brief history of the New York Yankees, the New York Jets, and University of Miami football just with the information that is in his brain. Also, by brief I mean 1,000 pages each. In addition, he knows the most up-to-date sports news despite the fact that he has no free time and almost always falls asleep 10 minutes after the TV is turned on. I’m pretty sure there is a Sports Satellite in space that transmits information to his chip. There is no other explanation.
Finally, I present you with…
Exhibit C: The English Professor
The English Professor enjoys writing, reciting lines from random literary works, and bagels. The English Professor grew up in Brooklyn, New York, but has since moved to Massachusetts. Somehow, despite the fact that he spends 85% of his waking hours trying to teach people what good writing is, he is still able to talk sports with Exhibit A: The Boyfriend. And Boston sports at that.
Where did he acquire this information? I doubt the 1950’s in NYC were filled with chatter about important moments in Boston sports history. Besides that, how does someone who could probably recite all of Macbeth and remembers all the lyrics to any 60’s song have any recollection for Boston sports facts? I’m telling you, it was downloaded.
What do you think? I barely remember what I ate for breakfast an hour ago, so don’t even think about asking me Beckett’s ERA or Brady’s completion percentage. Remember that bit about my head exploding? It’s not pretty. Save yourself some time – just go ask the nearest man. They’re all Sports Bots, some just don’t realize it yet.
Samantha Lewis is the author of "Hit Like a Girl". She is the Creative Director of Northshore Editorial in Salem, MA and can be followed on Twitter