My 3-year old niece is currently in the midst of a temper tantrum. She wants to go outside and ride her bike, but I told her she had to take off her ballet tutu first. She doesn't want to take off her ballet tutu.
And therein lies our conflict.
So she is now repeatedly slamming her bedroom door, opening it, and slamming it again. Wham. (pause) Wham. (pause) With each swing of the door, the breeze flutters her blond hair up around her scowling face, making her look like Drew Barrymoore in "Firestarter." But I'm not scared of her. She can make as much noise as she wants. Wham.
This coming Monday I am going to take part in a charity basketball game, a benefit for the Big Brothers/Big Sisters organization. J.C. Chasez is in town promoting his new album, and the whole event is inspired by his visit. So they're rounding up the local football players, DJ's, etc. for a friendly game. Although when I was asked to participate, it was made clear that I don't have to actually play. Apparently the actual playing is being left up to the rest of the guys. I can just sit on the side, because I don't really want to play, right?...
I hate basketball. I am 6'3", and my arms are slightly too long in proportion to my body, so you think I would be a natural at the game. But I am terrible. I am great at soccer, and I love football, but the rest of the ball-centric sports seem to escape me. Baseball? Couldn't hit the ball to save my life. Golf? Drives me nuts. Tennis? I can hit the ball to you only if you are standing on the other side of the fence. Volleyball? It might hit me in the nose and turn me into Marsha Brady. But basketball truly brings out the true inner spaz in me. Plus, there's the issue of having all those other people slamming into me and covering me in their sweat. Yuck-ola.
Wham. (pause) Wham. (long pause...is she done?...) Wham. (nope.)
The last time I even picked up a basketball was in 9th grade, when I tried out for the high school team. I was cut in the first round. But I didn't care in the slightest. I just thought going to the tryouts with my friends was fun, and they made the team, so I never thought about it again. But still, I can't get past this preconception that I would never want to play in this charity thing.
I figure if you show up at something, you should give it your best shot; if you do it half-ass, you look like a wimp and you just bring the whole room down. And I'm definitely going, so I guess I'm playing. Screw their macho attitudes, I can run around in circles and body-check local DJ's just as well as anybody. So I'm going to go outside, on this lovely sunny day, and I'm going to practice. I'll have my niece with me to chase after the ball, because it will undoubtedly be flying everywhere, and she'll also be great moral support. Because, FYI, it is entirely appropriate to play basketball while wearing a tutu. You'll see, come Monday. I'll be wearing mine in spirit.