Somehow last night I was able to wrest the November 1 issue of Sports Illustrated from the clutches of my son(s) and peruse it. I came upon the Rick Reilly (aka, America's Greatest Sports Writer) article and promptly began laughing hysterically.
It appears that Rick recently, along with Jay Leno and singer Brian McKnight, was dragged on to Oprah to explain and account for the male gender in front of an audience of female gendered persons. And so, this column answers many of the questions about men that women have.
As a public service to female gendered persons I thought I would excerpt a few of his answers to common female gendered questions for your education and enrichment. Of course with this being a family friendly blog I've had to skip a few of the questions. The rest of this is from Rick:
Q: Why can my husband discuss the Vikings for two hours but us for only two minutes?
A: Men like things simple. Black/white. Win/lose. But relationships are gray/slippery. Not once has a ref brought the two coaches together and said, "While it's true you won 49-0, I felt the way you treated him in the third quarter was a projection of your own insecurities, so, actually, you lose and he wins. Shower up."
Q: Why did my husband cry when the Red Sox won the Series but not at our wedding?
A: If you had turned him down for 86 years, he might have.
Q: Do men consider belching a sport?
A: Yes.
Q: What's the deal with men and the remote?
A: See, when we were boys, we had popguns, dart guns, BB guns. Now most of us only have the remote. It feels good in our hands. We're not switching channels to see what else is on, we're shooting the thing that is on. Bang. You're dead. Next victim.
Q: My boyfriend is constantly saying, "Hold on, Honey, only a minute left in the game." Twenty minutes later it's still on. How fricking long is a sports minute?
A: An NFL minute is 17.3 minutes in real time. An NBA minute is 43.8. Neither of these, though, is as long as the "I-only-need-a-minute-to-fix-my-hair" minute. When men hear that, we take our coats off and finish doing the taxes.
Q: What is my husband thinking when he takes his sand wedge to bed with us?
A: He's thinking, What if there's a fire in the garage?
Q: Why does my husband always insist that I touch the calcium deposit on his clavicle?
A: I'm not sure you're grasping the historic significance of that calcium deposit. It's from the Slippery Rock B Division Intramural Flag Football Championships. It was his diving catch that forced the overtime that allowed Phi Psi Delta to go on and defeat Six Guys Your Girlfriend Wants. He broke his collarbone on that play. That's his Purple Heart. Indulge him.
Q: When is my husband's high-school linebacker teammate, Hurl, ever going to get off our couch? It's been two months!
A: You don't understand. They're Walla Walla High Fighting Panthers. They vowed to never, ever give up on each other. And aren't you glad he's big on vows?
lol!
Posted by: Shaun | November 16, 2005 at 07:35 PM