A Friendly Match is an (Oxy)moronic Thing
Before the main point, a little announcement. If you look down by the links, you'll see a new link called Eliza Chatbot. I set it up so I could keep my chatbot there, but it's not ready yet and so clicking on it will just waste your time. When it's done, you'll know, mostly because I'll be screeching for sheer joy at finally getting HTML to work properly for me.
Anyway, I play captain's-ball every Sunday with my church. It's something along the lines of building solidarity and keeping people friendly with each other, and so far I've always found it quite enjoyable except when my brother was around and started spouting rules whenever I so much as got within two feet of the ball.
"Foul! You aren't allowed to touch the ball with your left little finger first!", "Hoy! No passing to your own teammate three times in a row!", "It's fair for me to kick you in the shins as long as I'm showing two-thirds of all my teeth!", and various other enlightenments.
He went back on Saturday and frankly, I was looking forward to a relatively enjoyable game this week. Then came the news that we were going to have a friendly match with another church from somewhere. I'll call them the Face.
Now you have to know that I may be a mutant of sorts. I find myself extremely capable of demoralising everybody near me simply by looking at them and talking. Recently I've found it even works when I'm not looking at them. Maybe it's just that I'm an incurable pessimist when it comes to sports, and I always underestimate the chances of my team winning, and then I say so in a very convincing way.
Another thing is that I've looked up the statistics (I keep a mental record) and when it comes to sports, the team I'm on almost invariably loses. It got to the point where, when in primary school and people were choosing other people for teams, they tried to get me onto the other team so they'd be guaranteed the trophy.
Plus there aren't that many sports talents in my church. It's not a very large one and naturally the amount of spoprts addicts in it isn't too high either. Unfortunately, the Face seems to be gorged on steroid-laced hulks, and every single one of them turned out for the match.
I tell you it's impossible for a match of any sort to ever be friendly. First of all, you have to know each other's names, and you can't do that if you're digging out the other party's eyes in an attempt to get at the ball. You can't do that either if you're busy trying to block his vision so he can't get a clear shot.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I always thought friendships weren't supposed to start with mutual antagonising. And when you have two people trying to get the same thing, you can't do without a certain amount of antagonising, which basically means that the very concept of sports rules out the possibility of forming friendships of any sort. I wouldn't even want to exchange name cards in such circumstances!
Well, naturally, my church lost. I think the score was something like 300 to 2, and even then it was only because the rain made the ball slippery and so caused a series of fortunate events that somehow ended with the ball in our keeper's hands. I don't even know how it happened.
And then I got right off on the wrong foot with some kid from the Face--I think his name was Fat Fish, but I can't be sure. Like I said, I didn't bother exchanging name cards. In any case, he heard me refer to him as "the fat one over there" and immediately took offence.
(I apologised, of course, but he didn't seem to take it seriously. I ought to stop smiling at people when saying sorry.)
Anyway, I found him thoroughly irritating: he thinks facts are opinions, enjoys gloating about his height, is so bloated that he looks pregnant from the side, and thinks his voice is a delight to the hearer. I should know--he spent about half the time shouting about how wonderful he was and how awful we were. Not in those words, of course, but when you're trying to play any game and your opponent keeps saying he's bored, there's not much in the way of inferences to make.
The fact is that by the end of the game, I was so fed up with it that if I'd seen him standing on a track with an incoming train, I'd be more likely to pull out a camera and start filming than to call out and warn him. Not much loss to the world, I reckon.
So there you have it: as far as I'm concerned, the friendly match was a total washout. I didn't meet any new friends, I found somebody worthy of torture by skinning, and we even lost the match. Not that that was ever in doubt: their team was strong and ours weak, plus they were mostly male and ours was mostly female.
You know, I think the next time something like this is planned, I'll just be a spectator. It's much more entertaining, and a spectator isn't forced to get to know the players. Not that I, as a player, bothered to: as soon as I decided the match was impossible to win--I only play if there's a chance, otherwise it's a waste of time and energy--I switched off my emotions and sank into apathy, occasionally emerging to snap at the Fat Fish when he made a particularly stupid remark.
After Stupid Remark #4,291, I gave up on that too.
By the way, I saw Tee Four there too. It was surprising, since I never knew someone so small could turn out so hyper.
Anyway, I play captain's-ball every Sunday with my church. It's something along the lines of building solidarity and keeping people friendly with each other, and so far I've always found it quite enjoyable except when my brother was around and started spouting rules whenever I so much as got within two feet of the ball.
"Foul! You aren't allowed to touch the ball with your left little finger first!", "Hoy! No passing to your own teammate three times in a row!", "It's fair for me to kick you in the shins as long as I'm showing two-thirds of all my teeth!", and various other enlightenments.
He went back on Saturday and frankly, I was looking forward to a relatively enjoyable game this week. Then came the news that we were going to have a friendly match with another church from somewhere. I'll call them the Face.
Now you have to know that I may be a mutant of sorts. I find myself extremely capable of demoralising everybody near me simply by looking at them and talking. Recently I've found it even works when I'm not looking at them. Maybe it's just that I'm an incurable pessimist when it comes to sports, and I always underestimate the chances of my team winning, and then I say so in a very convincing way.
Another thing is that I've looked up the statistics (I keep a mental record) and when it comes to sports, the team I'm on almost invariably loses. It got to the point where, when in primary school and people were choosing other people for teams, they tried to get me onto the other team so they'd be guaranteed the trophy.
Plus there aren't that many sports talents in my church. It's not a very large one and naturally the amount of spoprts addicts in it isn't too high either. Unfortunately, the Face seems to be gorged on steroid-laced hulks, and every single one of them turned out for the match.
I tell you it's impossible for a match of any sort to ever be friendly. First of all, you have to know each other's names, and you can't do that if you're digging out the other party's eyes in an attempt to get at the ball. You can't do that either if you're busy trying to block his vision so he can't get a clear shot.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I always thought friendships weren't supposed to start with mutual antagonising. And when you have two people trying to get the same thing, you can't do without a certain amount of antagonising, which basically means that the very concept of sports rules out the possibility of forming friendships of any sort. I wouldn't even want to exchange name cards in such circumstances!
Well, naturally, my church lost. I think the score was something like 300 to 2, and even then it was only because the rain made the ball slippery and so caused a series of fortunate events that somehow ended with the ball in our keeper's hands. I don't even know how it happened.
And then I got right off on the wrong foot with some kid from the Face--I think his name was Fat Fish, but I can't be sure. Like I said, I didn't bother exchanging name cards. In any case, he heard me refer to him as "the fat one over there" and immediately took offence.
(I apologised, of course, but he didn't seem to take it seriously. I ought to stop smiling at people when saying sorry.)
Anyway, I found him thoroughly irritating: he thinks facts are opinions, enjoys gloating about his height, is so bloated that he looks pregnant from the side, and thinks his voice is a delight to the hearer. I should know--he spent about half the time shouting about how wonderful he was and how awful we were. Not in those words, of course, but when you're trying to play any game and your opponent keeps saying he's bored, there's not much in the way of inferences to make.
The fact is that by the end of the game, I was so fed up with it that if I'd seen him standing on a track with an incoming train, I'd be more likely to pull out a camera and start filming than to call out and warn him. Not much loss to the world, I reckon.
So there you have it: as far as I'm concerned, the friendly match was a total washout. I didn't meet any new friends, I found somebody worthy of torture by skinning, and we even lost the match. Not that that was ever in doubt: their team was strong and ours weak, plus they were mostly male and ours was mostly female.
You know, I think the next time something like this is planned, I'll just be a spectator. It's much more entertaining, and a spectator isn't forced to get to know the players. Not that I, as a player, bothered to: as soon as I decided the match was impossible to win--I only play if there's a chance, otherwise it's a waste of time and energy--I switched off my emotions and sank into apathy, occasionally emerging to snap at the Fat Fish when he made a particularly stupid remark.
After Stupid Remark #4,291, I gave up on that too.
By the way, I saw Tee Four there too. It was surprising, since I never knew someone so small could turn out so hyper.
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