The Sporting Life

Classy is a bit of a jock. Me a tomboy? Who would’ve thunk. While I must admit that I am fairly decent at softball and currently playing on two teams, I am not super talented in the flag football arena. I play on a flag football team currently and I am okay, but what I lack in talent I make up for with mad smack talking. For instance, I told a fairly girthy opposing team member the only time he was fast was when he came out of the womb.



I had a game last week and caught a pass a bit downfield. This was a milestone for me! Usually, when the ball comes in my direction (usually a very short pass)I yell some profanities with the hope that they will magically assist me with catching the pass. This strategy works surprisingly well quite often. But, enough about me, I need to get to the highlights of my most recent game.

The football team I play on is brand new, as in half of us met for the first time the first night of our game. Needless to say, we did not gel well at first and it took us way into the second half to get it together and even then we were only partially together. We played against a team that opted to not play co-ed soccer because the guys on the team got too intense while playing. They decided that flag football would give them their sport fix and keep them out of jail for assault. Well, let me tell you, football didn’t provide them with the zen-like calm that they needed. I can recall at least two instances in which I was sandwiched between two of their players. These players really liked to defend players that had no chance of receiving a pass and liked to jump down on said players and hit them in their noses with their elbows.

I guess that some members of the opposing team believed that in order to play your best in recreational football it is necessary to sport professional grade gear for better aerodynamics or something. There was a dude on the opposing team that was wearing very tight, I don’t know, Under Armour tights, with NO shorts over them. This stylistic choice left very little to the imagination, and I mean very little. Classy, on the other hand, likes to attire herself in gear that must meet the following requirements; it doesn’t smell too rank and must be a thrift store purchase. It’s a very sophisticated system, I know. I was very excited when I got to choose the team’s t-shirt color. I had three choices orange, yellow, or purple. They didn’t even have to say anything after orange. It was Chicago Bears orange, my fav!

One of the other team’s players during the end of the game (keep in mind we were down like a gazillion to goose egg & this dude had NO reason to take the following actions) decided to run full force across the field to block a pass and jumped into the air like a possessed jaguar. Well, Mr. Xtremo upon landing rolled on his ankle. He was in some pretty intense pain (only fitting for an intense guy) and one of my teammates rushed to his aid and calmed him down.
When he said, “It’s okay, I’m a doctor.” I’m not sure that everyone believed him. They might have thought he was pulling a George Costanza on the beach. Like George, my dear teammate did a nice job taking care of his patient.

Now, what was the ultimate highlight of the game? During the first half of the game, one of our male players mapped out our next play on a female player’s upper body. While this was occurring another teammate and I loudly said a “Whoa, hey there!” and were looking at each other with the expression of what the hell is happening on our faces.


The cartographer did not even try to stop his work and for the rest of the evening we kept on saying that we were surprised he didn’t illustrate some curling action around her naughty pillows.




My female teammate did not remember any of this occurring (perhaps she was too traumatized by the whole affair), but when I refreshed her memory she said, “Oh yeah, he totally touched my boobs!” Oh, what will our future games bring? One can only imagine.