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2005-06-07

Ce'st La Crosse

My lacrosse team finished a disappointing 5th this season. Because of a birthday during the season, I�m now too old to actually play on this team (though thanks to a proper skin regime I don�t look it. Remember kids, wear sunscreen.) Actually, a few of us are, and we are resisting moving up to the next bracket, mainly because it�s populated by uptight investment bankers who are attempting to relive their glory days and take all the fun out of the game. It�s always about fun while your team is winning. And while that�s partly true, it seems to be less about fun when your team is behind and more about reclaiming your masculinity with that crowd. It kind of marks a right of passage, I think. In my early 20�s I gave up Beer Ball on Sunday afternoons in the park. In my mid 20�s it was Disc Golf. Now, it seems that Lacrosse will fall by the wayside. I don�t necessarily want to give up on Lacrosse, I merely feel that Lacrosse has given up on me. Like all things I�ve gotten older and it has remained the same, attracting youth like I used to be for the same reasons that I was attracted to the sport in the first place. Although it has gone more mainstream. I remember scoffing at its inclusion in American Pie, and thinking, damn. That�s going to bring in a couple of jackasses. And while, yes, it kind of did, they didn�t stick with it. At least the ones in my experience didn�t. They just wanted to be sensitive and shit. Perhaps they should have joined the choir. I would have preferred to go out on top, but I don�t think that�s the case in sports. It�s a downward slide until you are the last picked. I�m getting off, in the middle, but still before I�m left there alone on the field with the person who lost the coin toss taking me because he has to. I had coffee with sister this afternoon, and I mentioned that I was going to perhaps quit. She suggested I coach, but really, children and I should not be kept in any sort of team environment. I much prefer to listen to the plan and then complain when it doesn�t come to fruition. It�s why I�m perfect for middle management. Let me implement! But don�t make me make the decision to implement. It�s kept me working, but perhaps at a cost I�m not aware of. I guess I�ll just have to come up with some other sort of hobby. To enjoy this newfound adult hood that I�m saddling myself with by giving up the last bastion of my youth. Maybe now I�ll learn to appreciate Jazz, enjoy wine with dinner, and start wearing turtlenecks under my sweaters and blazers. Wait for gray hairs, and watch my 401k and be more set in my ways. I guess, in a way, I�m giving up on my youth. Or not trying so hard to hold onto it. Not that I�m giving up my facial products. I�m far too vain to let myself go.

When I decided that Beer Ball and I should really not see each other as much, or you know, at all, I wasn�t the first to go, nor was I the last, who ended up being a fraternal brother named Eli who had a hard time letting go. He eventually moved back to Hollister (yes, like the clothing company and peopled by exactly the same type that wear the clothes. I hate Hollister.) to take over his family�s drywall business, but still showed up at all the reunions and events. He got a girl pregnant, married her and still has a hard time letting go of the time he spent there. I think they are divorced now. I only met her once, and she struck me as one of those small town girls that live in Journey songs. I suppose that I should be grateful that I had better things to do on a Sunday (or more realistically Monday morning) than getting wasted on a keg of MGD while attempting to play baseball in the park. I imagine that the game is still played, there are some traditions that are timeless, and that while the players may wax and wane with age and responsibilities, the game does go ever on. I had a cousin that would always want to play when she would come to town on a visit. She was a fearless Southern California girl who was quite popular. During one particularly rambunctious game she managed to lose her top, cementing her into the lore of the sport and no doubt the oral history of the park. It was always fun whenever Megan made it into town. She was a buyer for Pier One and ended up meeting and marrying some telecommunications salesman. We all kidded her that she was marrying a phone salesman, like in those kiosks at the mall. I doubt that she still plays though. We always meet for drinks at the Tiki Bar in the Fairmont Hotel when she comes to visit these days.

Disc Golf, likewise was easy to give up. I only started at the insistence of sister, who wanted her future husband and brother to not only get along, but do so productively. I suggested he join our Beer Ball games, but that was met with a cold stare. And so we would find ourselves on the Berkley Shore throwing Frisbees through chained hoops and drinking chilled craft beers from the small coolers we brought with us. It wasn�t my crowd at first, mostly made up of college buddies of my soon to be brother in law, and I felt like an outsider for longer than I probably was. The most memorable game was the one the week of the wedding where we actually achieved the connecting that sister wished for, and I think became true friends. He ended up losing his favorite disc that game, with me risking the ruining of a favorite pair of Converse in an attempt to rescue the disc from the sludge it was mired in. I remember us returning to his apartment muddy and slightly drunk, singing songs and laughing at our absurdity. After the wedding he didn�t attend as much, and likewise I drifted away without him to keep me anchored there.

This journal of mine is like that a little bit, without the constant upkeep, the monitoring of people�s lives, it languishes.

Look at us, we're beautiful (0)

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Email Entry, Just for Laughs - 2006-01-25
Stupid Names - 2006-01-03
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Cha-Cha-Changes - 2005-07-07

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