Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Rants and Raves

There are few things that infuriate me more than dudes who assume because I have a pair of (small) tits and long hair, I don't know shit about sports. Here's the reality of the situation. I am the anti-woman in the traditional sense. My mom and Gma? The two most amazing cooks known to man kind (and my Gma was Irish, which is say a LOT). Me? In the last year I have had to ask my mother how to hard boil an egg. Twice. I don't know how to use an iron, when I make my bed it tends to be uneven, I own four pieces of jewelry that include a Claddagh ring, 2 pairs of earrings and a Tiffany's bracelet I got for my Sweet Sixteen. I drink beer, not wine or vodka, and I watch sports, not Gossip Girl. Ask me about the latest episode of like, 90210 or Smallville, I couldn't fucking tell you anything. Ask me about designer bags and shoes, I have no idea, I buy most of my shit from BeBe and I have bought heels off of E-bay for 20 bucks (and had someone ask if they were Gucci, no joke). So when a guy comes up to me at work, talking to his buddy about sports and whether or not Derek Jeter is going to accept a low ball contract from the Yankees or part ways with the now iconic partnership he's had with them, and ask me if I "knew what a pitcher (moving on to the Lee situation and other possibilities for free agent pitchers)" was in terms of baseball, it took every ounce of strength for me to not pour his glass of Cab down his shirt. CAB. And you're asking ME if I know what a pitcher is? Bitch, please.

Yes, I bang around with a lot of athletes, and yes, in many instances, soccer especially, because of said banging around I learn a lot more about the sport than I ever would have not screwing around with them. EPL, Budesliga, Ligue 1, MLS, La Liga, Serie A, I got so much of it down at this point, but I don't think it would have happened had I not started dicking around with those clowns a few years ago.

But baseball? Baseball is not one of those sports I had to learn later on. I have been going to Yankees games since I was five years old. It was the only thing my father ever seriously did for me that benefited my life in any way. He once lied and told me I was related to one of my favorite players, a rumor I repeated in grammar school until when I was in fifth grade some asshole 8th grader informed me I wasn't Dominican and I went home crying. I asked my mom if we were spanish/Dominican and she was all stressed out about it, considering I had been raised in THE most Irish Catholic household this side of Bay Ridge. When Mike Torre, Joe Torre's son first started coming into my bar, and I was introduced to him, he asked me what I wanted to do with my life. At the time, I told him sports journalism (clearly that never panned out), to which he replied "do you know who my dad is?" My answer? "Yeah, you're dad gave me the best moments of my entire adolescence." Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS, which my sister got tickets to on the fly, will rival my wedding day as the single best thing I have ever witnessed in my life. Clete Boyer is my favorite player, and when the pitching staff from the Toronto Blue Jays came in to my bar, I had a long conversation with Cito Gaston about how he played with Clete. I know Clete Boyer (who, mind you, was the third baseman from 1959-1966, playing alongside some of the greatest Yanks of all time and during arguably one of the greatest decades of Yankee baseball, winning two World Series and garnering a Gold Glove). Do you know how many women know who Clete Boyer is, let alone would claim them as one of their all time favorite Yankees? NOT THAT MANY.

Now, baseball is my forte, but stick me under the probes of hockey, soccer, lacrosse, college basketball, college football, and yes, even at times, I can hold my own with limited knowledge in NFL, and I'll do just as well.

So yes, I may fuck around a lot, and chase the jersey, and steal clothes fro the guys I hook up with so I can sport them later on and tell a story of infamous sex and stupidity, but at the end of the day, at heart, I love sports more than anything. I love baseball and the New York Yankees more than I love members of my extended family. I can go to any kind of sporting event and have the best time in the world, even tennis, which I hate. Fuck, I've been to a God damn polo match in England. You get shitfaced on Champagne and cold salmon platters and then it's basically like watching Quiddich from Harry Potter only on horses. And I still had a BLAST and I can now tell you more about Polo than most girls who grew up in a New York house hold where I rarely even saw horses.

So please dudes, you can question me on a lot of things - my math skills, my domestic skills, my singing skills (of which I have none), the length of time it takes me to get ready, my ability to form a sentence without the word fuck or shit in it, but never, EVER ask me such a stupid fucking question as "do you know what a pitcher is?" It's insulting, to me, and any girl, even the ones who don't know shit about sports. I've gotten closer to parts of the game than you most likely ever will, unless you find a gay third baseman or midfielder or defenseman or forward (they exist), I have put up with more bullshit from the game than you ever could unless you actually played or have a brother who played, so please, seriously, order your God damn glass of cheap ass house wine, because you're too stingy to even contemplate looking at the wine list by the bottle, and either ask me a legitimate question or don't ask me at all. Thanks a million.

1 comment:

  1. There is nothing better than watching a girl hand a guy his ass on a silver platter about sports. Because 1. his friends will never let him live it down or at least they shouldn't. 2. It's such a turn on for most guys when a woman can talk sports with you.....

    Love It!!!!