Sports, shmorts

After reading Elizabeth's ruminations on the importance of the Indians in the Willis family, I got to thinking about my nearly consummate lack of interest in the world of sports. They just don't do it for me. I have experienced brief episodes of marginal interest, generally during post-season baseball, the NCAA basketball tournaments, and a certain movie starring Jimmy Falon. I watched almost all of the games when the Indians were in the World Series in the 1990s, and I did my share of cheering when Kent State did well in the March Madness of my senior year. But my participation in such exciting times is dampered by my need to concurrently learn the rules of the game at hand. My reactions are slowed down as I check my neighbor's face to ascertain whether whatever has happened is good or bad. I can handle attending sporting events. I enjoy going to baseball games, although I am sort of a wasted ticket as I usually forget to pay attention.

How did I become such an anomaly in a sports-frenzied family? Ben is still a Browns ball boy at heart, and spends more time than he'd like for me to divulge studying stats for his fantasy sports teams. My parents have season tickets to Ohio State football games. As Elizabeth described, my immediate family is hugely into the Indians. Me? I'd only know the Indians were on because Mama & Daddy hooted and hollered loud enough to be heard through the floorboards. As a trombonist in the marching band, I attended precisely 41 football games throughout high school, and never once paid attention to a single play. Indeed, I just confessed to Ben last night that I didn't even particularly like it when Stow won, because it meant we had to wear our band hats backwards, and it hurt my head.

Not that I'm without school spirit. Boy, oh boy, when the Stow Latin Club paraded after winning the 20th Junior Classical League trophy in a row, I spearheaded the cheers from the shoulders of a guy named Pat.

[Hip, hip, hooray for the unwell-rounded nerds!]

I do offer my condolences to my forlorn relatives. There's always next year, right?

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