Read it and weep

"Blogging is a women's sport."
When a male friend of mine said that to me this morning on the phone, I couldn't help but agree. He was mocking. He mocks my blog, can you believe that? In fact, many of my male friends, upon hearing that I blog, make that throaty-scoffing sound. They often try to recover and say, "oh, uh, that's cool." But I recognize a throaty-scoff when I hear it. Rarely is my own personal webby-journal interesting to someone of the male gender. It's not something I put on my "resume for marriage," but something I frequently work to justify in the "interviews" known as dating. This blogging thing is good stuff.

Perhaps if more men saw blogging as a "women's sport," they'd understand my passion and talent. If blogging could be understood as a sport, maybe it would evoke something other than a throaty-scoff.

I'm not much for sports analogies, but watch this analogy. This is happening. Right. now.

Blogging: The Football of My World

I've been training my whole life for something. Something big. When I was just a small child (around 5 years old) my parents enrolled me in a special training academy that has taught me the skills of my sport. My instructors--coaches, if you will--taught me the basic things I would need to know for my sport. For thirteen years I labored, trained, practiced, and worked to be competent in the skills of my sport. I'll never forget when my senior English trainer, Mr. Carlisle, told me, "you've got a talent for this sort of thing, you know." I then moved on to a more advanced training academy for two years, eventually earning a award. After that, I moved to another conservatory of learning wherein I was trained even more specially. And now, even still more. Someday I hope to become a trainer myself. I want to teach future MVPs some of the skills and theories associated with this sport.

Now that I have a basic understanding of the needs in my sport, I work even harder at it. I've been working at the sport publicly for about two and a half years now. I've played well over 500 games, and counting. Some I've won, some I've lost. But the games have been part of my passion and have helped define who I am. There's a magical moment in every game that I know I'm onto something good. I crave that high to the point that I'm playing almost every day now. People ask me, "why so often?" And I can only respond, "because I love it."

My mom, my aunt, my sister, and many others come to my every game. They cheer me on, we often discuss it afterwards, and they support me in my sport. But even if I had no supporters, no attendees, no fans, I'd still play. I love it that much. I'm not in it for the fans; I'm in it for my love of the sport.

There are no fancy uniforms. No protective gear. No Superbowl. No World Series. No Championship Cup in my sport. Some give up because of that. But not me. I keep going. I keep playing. The more I play, the better I get. There will never be a trophy in my case for this sport, but I know I'm winning. That's enough for me.

I was originally brought into the sport by my sister and I've since recruited a few others to play with me. Very few stick with it. This ain't no sissy game; it takes true dedication. There've been tears shed in plenty of games: I'm not going to lie. Those tears are part of what make me a true athlete. I take this sport seriously. Every. Single. Game.

This is my sport. You don't have to understand it. You don't have to play along. You don't even have to listen to me ramble about how awesome it is. But understand it or not, you're always welcome to read it and weep.