SECRETS REVEALED!! Why Guys are Sports Idiots

One of the things women have a hard time understanding about men, along with our infatuation with big boobs, cars, and hairless teenage boys, is...huh?  What are you talking about? All men are too infatuated with hairless teenage boys. Now you're just being silly.  Okay, if all men aren't infatuated with hairless teenage boys, why is my house and all the houses around me on this map with those awesome red dots? And WHY do I have this cage?  Tell me that smarties.  It sure isn't for, pffft...adult women.  You guys are stupid.

Now where was I?  Oh yeah.  Women don't understand why it is we are so passionate about sports.  Now this isn't to say that women aren't passionate, but normally it's not your average woman who takes a television and throws it out the window after a team suffers a particularly upsetting loss.  This is because women, while they can get emotionally out-of-whack about pretty much anything at any time, have some sort of internal register that when it comes to sports, tells them, "It's just a game."  While leaving the toilet seat up one too many times can eventually result in one's wife snapping and turning into Angela Bassett, torching one's possessions on the front lawn, for some reason when it comes to sports, women can put things in perspective.  And this is why they can't for the life of them understand why it is we react the way we do when our team can't turn a simple double play that would have gotten us out of the inning only down one.

So today, using myself as the typical male sports fan, I figured I'd let you know what it is that is going through our heads as we do the things we do while watching sports.

INTENSITY

THE number one trait men have when watching sports is intensity.  Especially those like myself who live and die with an entire city's teams.  Every play can either be the greatest moment of your life or the end of the world.  We watch games like every time a play goes wrong, the hand on our Great Uncle Stan's life support pulls the plug another centimeter. Too many bad plays and Stan's dead, the battle for his "estate" that includes his laminated button business and a double-wide trailer on the outskirts of town begins, and adult male family members finally feel safe enough to divulge the "special" time they had with Stan when they were eight.  But we never want to get to that point of having to relive that special time and finally explain to our spouses why we have refused to eat carrots all these years, so we need Stan to live.  For that to happen, our team needs to STOP DROPPING THE DAMN BALL.  

ANGER

You know, even I can't explain this.  Breaking televisions, kicking in walls, smashing computers, basically doing damage to expensive material over a ballgame.  I guess we've got all of this pent up rage due to the fact that we wanted to be professional athletes and so we always think that we could have done better than that jackass if we were out there, which pisses us off to the point of having to throw or break something.  I'll admit I've smashed stuff in the past over a game, but that was when I had money and could replace it.  Now I'm broke, which much have triggered something in my brain that clicks on anytime I'm getting ready to smash something, running a scroll in my head that tells me "Don't do it, idiot.  If you break that you don't have the money to replace it and the next time you need to enjoy "alone time" you'll have to find something else to shove up there.  And don't even think about your baseball bat because you destroyed that when the Bears lost last week."  And so I don't break it.  

JOY

Ladies I know this sucks to hear, but on the right day, the right game can give us more joy than our wedding day or the birth of our children.  I mean, seriously, I don't remember dancing like this after saying "I do".  I know I was incredibly happy, but the sort of involuntary, primal reaction that surfaces after the White Sox or Blackhawks when the championship or the Bears go to the Superbowl is different.  It just happens.  When one's team wins in dramatic fashion, this happens.  When a guy's team when a title, if you asked us for a new car at the right moment you'd be driving a new Lexus until they repossessed it when we stopped making payments because let's be honest, we can't afford a freaking Lexus.  I think I read somewhere that the time of the most domestic violence is around the holidays due to the stress.  I'd surmise that the number two time is when a guy's team blows the big game and if his wife hadn't asked him to do that chore at that exact moment, the mojo wouldn't have been blown, his team wouldn't have been jinxed and now this bitch is going to pay.  

DESPERATION

Players pray before the game.  The team prays in the locker room after the game.  And we pray during.  Like God cares who makes the playoffs.  Seriously.  Well, actually since all He seems to be interested in is how miserable people are down here, I'm guessing He's a Cubs fan.  But I digress.  Why we think that putting our hands together and praying the team will make this first down is beyond me.  Yet we do it.  And God forbid that our prayers are "answered" even ONE TIME.  Because if I prayed for a home run, and holy shit the Sox just hit a home run and won the game, then you best believe that I've got some sort of direct sports pipeline to the Lord and I'm damn well using it the next time my team needs help.  And while I'm at it, I could use some bigger pecs and the ability to speak Japanese.  So, you know, uh...Chop Chop God. 

DESPAIR

This is a moment that every man experiences and the one that women have the most difficult time understanding.  They can't get why their normally emotionless boyfriend or husband is now sulking like a two-year old who didn't get a lollipop at the grocery store checkout lane. I can attest that I have gone through such emotional highs and lows that at the end of an especially trying game I've felt so drained I thought I would pass out.  And I've been to this point of despair where I've felt like crying when my team lost a REALLY important game.  I remember the year after the Bears won the Superbowl, in January of 1987, they lost in the playoffs to Washington.  I was so upset that they weren't going to win two straight championships that I sat on the couch, a 14 year old kid, crying like a bitch.  Then it hit me that this was probably the reason I didn't have any girlfriends to this point, and if I didn't stop crying, then when the Bears lost the next year I could be crying and telling myself that this was probably the reason I didn't have any boyfriends.  

So hopefully, Ladies, this has shed some light on the things we do and why we do them.  It won't do anything to stop us from doing them, however, the next time we're watching a game, it may make you think twice as to coming downstairs to tell us to do a chore, because, you know, if something goes wrong it would most definitely be your fault, and you'd have to pay.  And we really don't need that to happen.