As I have said before, I’m just not real swift at sports. Blasphemy, I know, in Alabama. We are a state of sportsman. Shoot, “Bear” Bryant is a deity. God may have created the heavens and earth in six days, but the Bear whupped up on Notre Dame.
Call Dash – yes sir: soccer, football, basketball, baseball, weightlifting, badminton, tennis, golf, lacrosse, croquet, and even the occasional round of shuffleboard.
Man, I’m terrible. This naturally caused a considerable amount of trauma in junior high school. You remember that guy who wore tube socks up to his armpits, a headband, braces, contact lenses, and look like a strong wind might blow him over?
Well that wasn’t me. Fortunately, that guy was named “Burke” and he, not I, was always picked last. I guess it wasn’t so bad always being picked second-to-last. Usually, my team won, not because we had me, but because we didn’t have “Burke.”
So at least I was in demand there at the last.
I bet you’re thinking, hey, why does this fellow stink in sports? Lack of coordination? No motivation? No practice?
Frankly I think most sports are b-o-r-i-n-g. That’s probably because I always played the worst positions (like outer Mongolia). But please, can anyone tell me why soccer is considered exciting?
In soccer, if there is a scoring frenzy going on it might be 1–1 or 1–0. At least in baseball the players have the good sense to hit the ball with sticks.
In soccer, the game takes the two things that set human beings apart from the rest of the animal kingdom, our heads in our hands, and mandates that we can’t use our hands to hit the ball, but we can smack it with our noggins. I generally try to avoid hitting things with the ole cranium, but then, that’s just me.
The Olympics have hit, and the whole country has gone nutty over them. Oh, I might watch a few minutes, but every four years I imagine what the Olympics might be like if I were in charge of the games.
First off, although I know this might offend some more religious members of the community, I think the Andalusia Olympics should be played absolutely nekkid.
I mean, let’s go back to the roots of the games—the Greeks played nekkid, and no doubt tourism to Andalusia would really pick up.
I get bored with just watching folks chuck stuff around a field—shotput, discus, javelin, etc.
We could be more creative. How ‘bout the “Wedgewood Chuck and Dash” event? The athlete would throw Aunt Agnes’ heirloom china instead of the discus and then Aunt Agnes could dash 50 yards to catch her dishes. Think of the incentive.
Or perhaps we could organize a barbecue eating marathon. I believe they’ve already got an annual marshmallow pie eating contest and Wetumpka, so I guess we could invite those fellers too.
I’m getting tired of just plain old high diving. What do y’all think of a jackknife event? Or bellyflop competition. My uncle Arthur could secure that gold medal cold. Perhaps the more obscure “Preacher Seat” jump.
We could get old Elmer’s pontoon over in Opp fired up—shoot, if you can ski behind that, you can ski on any old stupid mountain.
Course, I guess we could just put the winter Olympics somewhere else.
It was Albertville last time. That’s Albertville, France, not Albertville on Sand Mountain.
You’d be surprised how many people called the Albertville Chamber of Commerce five years ago to ask about tickets to the Olympics.
Those are the same people who caused “Do Not Open While in Flight” to have been written on airplane hatches.
And finally, I’ve thought of a sport I’m pretty good at. I could probably win a gold medal in it without even practicing: watermelon-seed-spitting contest.
I can slap spit a watermelon seed.
Have a good time watching the Olympics, Andalusia. And think about the watermelon-seed-spitting idea.
–Morgan Murphy