How did the sports day go GilloD?
I wrote this to my family and friends earlier:
Those of you who have known me for more than 15 minutes know that I am basely inept in sports. It's not that I'm particularly bad at one or the other, it's that in the innermost core of all sports is a series of deeply unified skills: Depth Perception, Coordination, Reflex, Not-Being-Afraid-Of-Being-Hit-By-The-Ball. These are the atoms of sports. Sports are made of them. They are toxic to me.
I'm a thinker and not just in that haughty, "Oh, you didn't read Prolegomena to any Future Metaphysics?" way, but in the 'There is a ball coming towards me. I have several options, can one of you PAUSE TIME so that I might deliberate on the best outcome?'. But even if you could pause time, even if I suddenly developed the iron will to know what to do and when to do it, I lack the skills required to enact that solution- I will whiff the ball. I will fumble the catch. I will miss the lay up. Barring a sudden re-orientation of reality, these are garaunteed feats.
The point is: Playing sports in America is the only thing I can genuinely count as 'embarassing'. I am a roll with the punches dude, but when it comes to sports I feel like I'm 7 again and completely helpless. So when Thursday rolled around and it was revealed to be 'Sports Day', I shook.
When I was looking at colleges I blacklisted any that had a Phys Ed requirement. I have not been in ritual, mandatory exercise situations in 7 or 8 years. This is a good thing, I am very, very comfortable with this. That ship sailed. It's not even on the horizon anymore. I'm just chillin' out on the beach. I had forgotten what a, uh. Well, let's dial it back a second: At first there was sunlight. Then people were like, "Oh, UV" and then gamma rays and x-rays and whatever. Our knowledge of the spectrum increased dramatically. Do you see where I'm going with this?
Sports Day increased my knowledge of the embarassment spectrum enormously. Because here's a thing about being bad at sports: Everything thinks they can redeem you. Drunk on every romantic sports film cliche ever set to celluloid, every apt Sportsman believes that you are a star quarterback unfulfilled. You must be nurtured! This is bad enough in English. If I'm hiding off in left field or shooting for the gutter, it's not because I'm waiting for a mentor. It's because I want to get it over with and with as little fuss as possible.
In Korean, this is twice as bad. I'm now not only fending off the good intentions of the able, I'm trying to interpret those intentions through a miasma of hand gestures, fumbled balls and broken English, all while trying to make a good impression. My face started to do that thing it'd do at trade shows when I'd been smiling too long, it got all quake-y, like arms do when you try and move a couch by yourself.
So I'm trying to fake my way through bi-lingual Volleyball and I look off in the distance- The female teachers are tossing a plunger into a bucket. That looks like it's my speed.
Fortunately, my awfulness has the kind of universal, "One World, We're all Brothers" appeal that Oprah would kill for and it becomes apparent that I'm not a flower waiting to blossom, I'm the house plant that's beyond watering. They give up passing and asking me to serve and I give up the ALL SMILES ALL THE TIME thing and everyone is satisfied. The game ends and we drink beer and eat pig feet and pork belly, which makes it even-steven by me.
Ugh. Sports day.
FUN FACT: All Koreans own a FULL TRACK SUIT waiting to be deployed at a moments notice.
FUN FACT: I do not.
