Since the world cup kicked off in the beginning of June, I can't even begin to calculate how much of my time it's wasted. More importantly, I've felt something stirring inside me, a strange unfamiliar presence: my manliness. Yes, there's nothing like sports spectatorship to confront an unmanly male with his testosterone. "Yo, Kevin," they say, "I wish that guy would go to goal already." "Don't I know it," I say. Jen noticed as much when she witnessed my inner-hooligan during the Czech, Ghana match. I find it necessary to coach from the couch, directing professional soccer players when to "cross" and make the "Big Switch!"
Those of you who know me can attest to the fact that I'm mildly athletic, only playing sports socially, not watching them professionally. So this sudden obsession with the World Cup has split my personality down the center, driving a wedge between the gender blind gentleman and the sports barfly. On the field (or "pitch" as I now know it), Thom had a little humor at my expense (although I may have been the only one laughing), which sums up my recent identity crisis. After scoring a goal, which to my own unending surprise actually occurs on occasion, he shouted to the goalie, "Come on! Don't let him past you. It's Kevin, for God's sake, he's a feminist!"
One last thing. Remember when you used to put "in bed" at the end of fortune cookies to make them funny. Well, here's one that made me laugh out loud:
"Someone is interested in you. Keep your eyes open... in bed"
1 comment:
I don't remember why anymore, but the other day I was doing the dishes and I was thinking about "Kevin as feminist."
I think there was some kind of vague comparison going on in my mind between men who are annoying feminists and men who are not annoying feminists. Needless to say, I think you fall in the "not annoying" camp. (Unless you have a "This is what a feminist looks like" t-shirt that I don't know about.)
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