Over the past few weeks I’ve been putting an awful lot of damage on my bank account. Call it an homage to the forth coming SEX AND THE CITY movie or an acknowledgment of my stimulus check, but I’ve increased my wardrobe by at least 20 new outfits, 5 new bras and 4 pairs of shoes. My favorite outfit? My new baseball socks, matching new Adidas superstars, shorts and tee. Go figure. Of course I had to go out and buy myself a brand new Louisville slugger. After an aggravating journey through hundreds of bats signed by the games biggest asshole, Manny Ramirez, I finally found one with a minor douches signature, Derek Jeter. I can live with Jeter.
Me and my sports. I suppose it’s fitting that I feel sexiest in sports gear. I’m such a friggin’ tomboy. After all, I refer to the men I date as my roster. At least I’ve begun dwindling that down. I was, at one point, rather proud of my football team lineup. The quarterback got my highest priority, but I kept the defensive ends around just in case. I never really called on the punt kicker, but in a pinch he would always come through. Over time I realized that the playing field was simply too big and I traded that roster for a much more manageable baseball lineup. Besides, this made more sense considering every player on the field actually made a difference in the game.
Baseball. Nine men with a few extras in the bull pen and the all American designated hitter seemed completely well rounded. Sometimes, though, you get hit by a pitch and snap to reality. After seeing things a bit more clearly thanks to my big ass HD TV, I learned to develop an appreciation for basketball. Now there was a sport I had forgotten to give a shit about. Five men out on the court all entirely imperative to making the game work. They’re all there for a specific reason and there’s no fat to be trimmed. Each one has something to offer. Each one has the talent and qualifications to be playing, but some stand out a bit more than others. They have different jump shots, they have varying methods of defense and their dunk faces are all quite unique…I’ve been quite happy with this roster and enjoy the variety without the juggle.
Here’s the problem though…they’re all good at passing. In football, that’s not such a big deal. You’ve got plenty of other offensive and defensive men to pick from (the joy…). In basketball, you lose one and everything goes to shit. You come to count on those 5 solid guys after a while. Sure, you’ve got some pretty decent possibilities on the bench, but you don’t put them in play enough to really know how much you can count on them or the way they’ll react in a must win moment…
It was today that I realized something…I’m a total liar. I want tennis. At the end of the day, I’m just some over sportsed adrenaline junkie looking to take some intensity away from the reality of what it is I really want – one person to to lob the ball back and forth with. I want the Agassi to my Sampras. The Nadal to my Federer. The one man who can push me to be better, strive harder, move faster, react quicker and with whom I can share respect with at the end of any match. I want to find myself in the Love All moment… I’d like the biggest wall between us to be a thin net with lots of holes in it… I don’t want to wear a helmet, carry a bat or block advances any more. I want to shake hands and look forward to our next match up.
So what is it? Why haven’t I come to this before? Is it the city? My youth? Maybe it was the naivety of believing that more men meant more chances of finding the right one. Or could it be that I’ve been afraid of a real one on one encounter where making it work meant giving as much back as you get from the other side. Concentrating on one player and not getting scared off by the idea of reaching Love is one hell of a challenge. Allowing the ball to fall in my court and waiting to see where it drops and understanding that if it’s out sometimes, that doesn’t mean it’s over…it just means you get another serve.
It happens. Finding someone to play a game of one on one can be difficult, but it happens. I’ve got to believe that somewhere in this great big revolving field, diamond, court, clay or whatever you want to call it, there’s someone looking for a partner. I just have to believe that I can actually live up to returning that serve when it comes my way.
So, goodbye roster. No more Logan, no more Jimmy. No more contemplating McFatty or entertaining the serial monogamists. Farewell to the B and D list celebs I run around with for laughs under the guise of a date and adios to the girl that let them into her life to begin with. None of them ever lent themselves to anything worth building on or toward. Maybe that’s why all the new outfits. Something inside said “that’s over – time to suit up for something new.” And so I have. After all, I’ve got more tennis shoes than any other woman I know. I’m totally ready.
I just have to be wary of the guy who loves golf…
