by Max Mauney

I’ve never been good at that sort of thing. I must be missing a chromosome or gene or something because I have never felt drawn towards sporting events the way other men seem to. The only way I knew to get through the evening ahead was to partake of the “social lubricant” being dispensed from the iced keg outside.

The local university was facing its rival on the football field. I felt no tie to the school; I didn’t attend the university. I wasn’t even born in this state. The only thing this team and I had in common was a zip code. Yet, I found myself sitting on a couch, crammed between two acquaintances, watching “the big game.”

I followed the cues of those around me and went through the motions of feigning emotion. When others cheered, I raised a beer, yelled the obligatory “Woooo!” and drank to the triumphant goal or play or whatever. When those around me groaned, I called out, “Aw, man!” and drank to ease the sorrow provoked by the fumble or interference or whatever.

I understood the basic rules and principles so I was able to follow the game. However, I lacked the interest needed to learn about particular teams or players, so I was unable to speak knowledgeably about anything specific.

Staring at the TV set through beer-blurred vision, I focused my attention long enough to get score updates or to catch an interesting play. The rest of the time, my mind entertained thoughts of everything except the event broadcast before me. “How did I get here?” I wondered. Well, I suppose I knew how I got there, but why? Why had I subjected myself to this forced social situation of male bonding?

My mind wandered and I started to put the pieces together. As the only child of a single mother, I was indoctrinated into a different world than most of these guys. I didn’t have a father or brother or uncle to teach me the nuisances of sports. I grew up lacking an affinity for anything athletic. My childhood was filled more with details of menstruation than Joe Montana. I knew all about PMS, but nothing of the PGA. When I heard a man say something about ERA, I had to remind myself he probably didn’t mean Equal Rights Amendment.

The trend continued through my teens and twenties. Throughout high school and college, most of my friends tended to be women. I was taken into their confidence. Suffice it to say, being “one of the girls” did little for my dating life. When a woman considers you a friend, she doesn’t want to date you. Even worse, she overlooks you as a candidate for any of her single friends.

Then, of course, comes “the assumption.” Thank goodness for the new millennium and the introduction of the metrosexual. At least now, my sexuality isn’t questioned the way it once was. Although, my fiancée’s role should not be overlooked either.

My trip down Memory Lane lasted longer than I realized. I was jostled back to reality as the room began to stir. Half time. Everyone dispersed; some when to the restroom, others went in search of food, and many made a beeline for the keg.

With attention no longer focused on the game, folks began to make small talk about the first two quarters. I never excelled at idle chit chat, especially with the fellas. That was why I came here in the first place: to make some guy friends, to try to appreciate sports, to fit in for once in my life. As the guys around me began tossing names and stats across the room to one another, I began to feel like an impostor. I refilled my plastic Solo® cup and tried to weasel my way into a conversation. “I’ll drink to that!” I announced. “Damn fine athlete,” I chimed in, when I judged it to be appropriate. I raised the bright red cup in a gesture of camaraderie, spilling as much down my arm as I poured down my throat.

As one might imagine, I was pretty trashed by the time the second half began. Once more, I found myself on the small couch being bounced around like a small dinghy on the stormy sea. The guys on either side of me jumped and gestured in vigorous reaction to each play. I bobbed up and down, rocked back and forth. Was Dramamine® in order? Nah, I just had another drink; the scrubbing bubbles always settled the stomach.

Somewhere around the start of the fourth quarter, I realized that it was time to start sobering a bit. Even I couldn’t drive in this condition. I tossed the bottomless plastic cup and opted for a bottle of spring water. I circled the dining table for the remainder of the game. I munched on the chips, dips, and other snacks provided by our host.

By the time the fourth quarter ended, I was feeling better. Probably not well enough to drive, but better. Judging by the exuberance of the crowd, the local team must have won. The crowd was on the move again, but I assumed the party was far from over. Now was my chance. I sloppily eased to the front door and staggered out into the brisk autumn night. Making my way down the walk to my car parked on the street, I heard a voice coming from a dark corner of the yard.

“Hey, what’cha doin’? You’re not leavin’ yet, are ya?” someone called out.
Was he talking to me? I glanced slowly around; this was not the time to test my equilibrium with sharp, sudden movements. I was the only one around, except for the dark figure.

“Yeah, it’s gettin’ about that time,” I heard myself reply.
“I hear ya. I’m pretty wasted. I came out here for some fresh air when Mother Nature called,” he explained as he walked closer. In the glow of the street light, I recognized him as one of the guys knocking me around on the couch earlier.

“I’ve ‘talked to a few trees’ in my time,” I offered, not knowing where the hell that remark came from.

Laughter bellowed from the couch surfer. “You’re all right, buddy. We should hang out again some time.”

“Oh, okay. S-s-sounds like a plan.” I stammered, failing to conceal my bewilderment. We had barely spoken all night. In fact, this exchange was the most we had ever spoken to one another. He wants to hang out? Again?!? I was unaware we’d socialized a first time.

“Have a good night, man. And, hey, keep it between the liiiines,” he said as he returned to the party inside.

“We’ll do!” The words leapt from me involuntarily. Where was that coming from?!?

I climbed into my car, rolled down the window, and breathed in the night air. I sat there for a minute or two, contemplating what had happened. I had shown up, offered up a few vapid platitudes, and drank a lot of beer. I had contributed nothing and gotten to know no one. Yet, the evening was a success. I had never felt more like one of the guys.