Everyone at my workplace's holiday party yesterday (yeah, it got put off that long) expected me--she of the Pats and Sox-saturated cubicle--to participate enthusiastically in the various games set up for the occasion, from the football-throwing game to the rented basketball deal with the two hoops and the digital scoreboard between them. It was hard for me to explain to them why I sat it out--why I abstained from an activity I so obviously enjoy observing when done by professionals.
What's difficult to get across is that I sincerely only enjoy watching sports, and have little to no desire to actually perform them. This probably has something to do with the fact that I am quite possibly the least athletic or physically coordinated person ever to actually exist. The fact that this makes me admire athletes more--to me, their feats seem impossible, not just unlikely--as well as be that much more acutely aware of their prowess is something it's hard to work into a casual conversation with an acquaintance. So basically, I just stood around and looked weird.
What can I say. I'm a watcher. And a writer. That's the extent of my involvement in sports, but I would humbly submit that it's still of a worthwhile nature.
Because what no one knew about me yesterday was, that when "Tony", an exceptionally physically gifted individual (at least as far as I have observed him at the company softball game and other "morale builder" games like these at work), who works in the machine shop and reminds me of a cross between Manny Ramirez and Jay-Z, made everyone else look like punks from the masking-tape free-throw line, I probably enjoyed it as much as he did.