From the cheap seats

Last semester I wrote one of my columns on what makes a sport a sport.

I gave many examples of what I consider to be sports and what I consider to be very challenging activities, but should not be called sports. Today, Valentine’s Day, dear readers, I present to you that love is a sport.

Love is a sport for many reasons. These reasons include competition, desire, drama, winners, losers, cheating and sometimes, love is full contact.

Men relate so easily to any sport, but when it comes to love, this is one game where women definitely have the upper hand. The cards are stacked in their favor guys, sorry. Some guys get lucky and gain the advantage; we call these guys underdogs making the upset.

For some women, love is the only sport they participate in. If they’re not participating, then you can bet that they are coaching their fellow athletes in the game. If they’re not coaching then they are definitely spectators. Why do you think daytime soap operas are so popular?

I don’t care what the sport is; there is more strategy in a three-month relationship than five Superbowls and two World Series. Literally, every move you make, every word you say has an impact on what your significant other perceives you to be.

Apparently, I’m not the only one who compares love to a sport. Have you ever heard guys talk about a date?

‘I’m just playing the field right now.’ ‘So, how far did you get?’ ‘I got past second, but I got thrown out at third,’ or ‘I struck out.’

For some reason, baseball doesn’t only transcend languages, but it transcends emotion as well. I’ve always pictured the notion of a date being a baseball game as a pretty intense mental contest.

I’ll assume that everyone knows what the bases represent (if you don’t, I’m sorry, but call your parents, they’ll know). Here’s how I picture it set up. The guy is the team at bat and the girl is in the field.

If a guy doesn’t strike out, then he earned a trip to first or the girl just felt sorry for him and walked him.

Now this is where it gets complicated. Once on first the guy will have two coaches to listen to (these two never agree). The first base coach is a guy’s hormones (for lack of a better word). The third base coach is the man’s brain.

The guy goes to the first base coach asking for advice on his next move. Instinctively the first base coach is going to say ‘Go for it. Go for second, you got to first pretty easy. You can do it, she’s got a weak pick-off move.’

The third base coach tries to reason with the runner. ‘Wait a minute. If you go for second now and get caught, you might not get to third. Be patient and pick your spots.’

Unfortunately the guy is going to listen to the first base coach most of the time.

Love is a sport because no matter how many times you get hit you’re going to get back up. It’s that same desire that makes athletes so tough. Their calluses on their body rival the scars of a broken heart.

The depression that love leaves you with, can make you feel like nothing in the world matters. Any sports injury pales in comparison except maybe paralysis.

Love can make you feel like you just won the Superbowl or it can leave you paralyzed, crippled and broken. Love is a sport. Play wisely, play safe and enjoy it for what it is, because it can go away just as quickly as it came.

Posted by Colonnade Archives on Feb 14 2003. Filed under Opinion. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry