Anti-Couric: The Sports Enthusiast

Bocce anyone?

Some of  you may have heard about my attempts to become a basketball fan. My college years were marred by my lack of interest in basketball. On the UConn campus this basically makes you a pariah. So, this year I decided to start watching the NBA Finals, which, coincidentally, airs on the only channel I get at home. I thought this might help me become a more functioning member of society.

I figured that, because it’s a Lakers-Celtics series, I could at least pick a team. “Go Boston” being one of the few sports phrases that actually rolls off the tongue for me! The first game I barely paid attention to. I think I was playing Zoo Tycoon while watching. The second game, which the Celtics won, was a little better. Ray Allen helped keep my eyes from rolling back in my head. The third game…well…I kind of forgot that was on while engrossed in Season 2 of “LOST” and didn’t come in until about halfway through. I don’t know when Game 4 happened, but I missed it.

So, I’d more or less given up and decided to turn my attentions to World Cup soccer by Saturday, specifically the USA v. England game. I have a special interest here. My Nana is English. Though she got her American citizenship when I was a kid, my mother still has dual citizenship (thanks to having been born in England with an American father). So, awhile ago I decided to see if I was eligible for citizenship. I figured it could be handy if I ever decided to flee to the U.K. and take up residence in a small village with a good pub.

Nana kept telling me women could not pass on citizenship, and I told her it’s 2010 and that’s a load of crap. Turns out I was right, sort of. The Brits did change the rules and I would be eligible for citizenship, if I was just born two years later. WTF?

So, on the day of the much anticipated USA v. England game, I put up my fetishes for hot accents and British soccer hooligans and decided it was time to throw my support behind a team no one in the country gives a crap about 95% of the time. I headed down to Black Bear in SoNo to watch the game with some buckets of beer, and what turned out to be a kind of soccer-crazed crowd. As I walked up the street to the front door I could hear a cheer going up through the bar… which turned out to be coming from a table full of England-fans as the Brits scored a goal.

America the Beautiful

There were some Revolutionary War-era taunts thrown around, and when America scored later in the game (a goal I can only assume was utterly embararssing for England’s goalie) and tied up the game the bar, and my friends in particular, lost their f-ing minds. Picture three tall, white dudes running around with these (<——) letters held up over their heads and screaming like little girls, while scaring unsuspecting kids’ whose father had dragged them to the bar for a birthday party so he could watch the game (and made them wear their soccer jerseys so it looked like they cared about what was happening). Though, I must say, when the waitress brought the kid a piece of cake with a candle in it, and every drunken a-hole in the bar sang to him, it was a truly magical moment.

As you no doubt know by now, we tied the Brits and earned a point. So we’ll be playing again soon — against Slovenia, I believe — but once the game was over we needed something else to do. So we headed to Calf Pasture Beach where we played frisbee, got our asses handed to us by some underage kids in volleyball, and then gave our weary bones a rest with some Bocce.

But the day’s sports entertainment did not end there. No, while waiting for dinner we watched some sort of WWE wrestling where John Cena got basically gang-banged by a bunch of NXT dudes in banana hammocks. Turns out this was just a flashback, but it was still ridiculous. So, I went home and got all rested up for Sunday Funday at the PrissyBitch’s house–an event which is most accurately described as an upscale BBQ with “Minute to Win It” games and sangria designed to celebrate four years of marriage.

Anti-Couric tries, desperately, to get her cookie.

Now, if you haven’t gotten on the “Minute to Win It” bandwagon (or haven’t seen the contestants doing dumb stuff on “The Soup”) it’s a game show hosted by obnoxious celebrity chef Guy Fieri where people come on and perform seemingly simple tasks within a minute to win money. If you’re friends with the PrissyBitch, you do it to keep her from banning you from the next party. Needless to say we played games like “Candy Elevator” and “Junk in the Trunk” until we had all embarrassed ourselves  in some way. In the “Face the Cookie” game we all scratched our retinas with Oreo crumbs, and I took a face plant in the grass while shaking my “junk in the trunk.”

But even after we dipped our noses in Vaseline and  moved cotton balls with our face, it still wasn’t over. Croquet was up next.

I am not good at croquet on the best day, but after 5 cups of sangria I am downright awful. But, by virtue of being so bad, I was lagging behind when Renaissance Man became “poison” and he systematically took out all the players ahead of me before finally knocking me out of the game — which I think means I came in second. But not long after that I headed home where I thought I could climb into bed and fall asleep watching “The Bachelor” or something stupid… instead, I watched the second half of Game 5 and the Celtics squeak out the win.

Up next in this quest of mine to become a sports enthusiast is a Bridgeport Bluefish game on Tuesday…where we’ll painting our faces and screaming obscenities at the visiting team.

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