Imagine that you have absolutely no musical skills. Or maybe you know how to play C and G7 on the guitar (and Aminor if you really think about it). Then you came to one of my shows just to hang out, but Steve Cooley or Dan Canon didn't show up, so I asked you if you could fill in on the guitar. I was kind and said, "Don't worry, I won't throw you a bunch of solos, so just hang there and look pretty." You'd probably be a bit freaked out and have a high-anxiety evening, wondering if they could dilute some Xanax in your bourbon.
That's what it's like for me when people ask me to play sports.
Yesterday, FWT got a few friends together for a mini-Field Day in the park. Had there been three-legged or potato sack races, I may have been game for participating, but I figured I'd just take a notebook, a fancy pen, a book for when i wasn't feeling creative, and a blanket to enjoy this last nice day of the season.
But no. A game of touch football was imminent, and I was peer pressured into participating. Really, it wasn't because of peers, but because some of our friends' children were playing too. And if the 3-year-old has no problem playing a friendly little game, then what's my damage, right?
I am not sporty. Well, that's not entirely true. I'm sporty in the water. I can play any sort of water game, and I can hold my breath longer than you can. In the water, you don't sprain your ankle. You don't have to run. People don't have to see you run (which is quite comical, so I hear). And somersaults don't hurt your back or neck.
I begged to be left out of every play. While guarding Carrie, my main tactic was to wiggle my fingers and scream, "Tickle, tickle, tickle!" Clearly, chasing her was out of the question. Once I was given the ball and told to run to the end zone, and while attempting to go around some scary boys with sharkskin gloves (I swear, they felt like that when they "touched" me), I apparently "ran" out of bounds and ruined the play.
Put me on stage with a million people watching and tell me to solo on a song I've never heard, and I'll play you something purty with no nerves or sweat. But please, please, please, whatever you do: don't give me the ball.
That's what it's like for me when people ask me to play sports.
Yesterday, FWT got a few friends together for a mini-Field Day in the park. Had there been three-legged or potato sack races, I may have been game for participating, but I figured I'd just take a notebook, a fancy pen, a book for when i wasn't feeling creative, and a blanket to enjoy this last nice day of the season.
But no. A game of touch football was imminent, and I was peer pressured into participating. Really, it wasn't because of peers, but because some of our friends' children were playing too. And if the 3-year-old has no problem playing a friendly little game, then what's my damage, right?
I am not sporty. Well, that's not entirely true. I'm sporty in the water. I can play any sort of water game, and I can hold my breath longer than you can. In the water, you don't sprain your ankle. You don't have to run. People don't have to see you run (which is quite comical, so I hear). And somersaults don't hurt your back or neck.
I begged to be left out of every play. While guarding Carrie, my main tactic was to wiggle my fingers and scream, "Tickle, tickle, tickle!" Clearly, chasing her was out of the question. Once I was given the ball and told to run to the end zone, and while attempting to go around some scary boys with sharkskin gloves (I swear, they felt like that when they "touched" me), I apparently "ran" out of bounds and ruined the play.
Put me on stage with a million people watching and tell me to solo on a song I've never heard, and I'll play you something purty with no nerves or sweat. But please, please, please, whatever you do: don't give me the ball.
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