The baseball season has come to a close and now it is time for the great playoff run to the World Series. Football is in full swing, NHL hockey is starting up, NBA begins at the end of the month and the World Cup of Rugby is currently happening. This is the best time of the year for most sports fans. I myself am heading to Mexico and the shores of Puerto Vallarta for the some R and R. I will come back fully charged and will be ready to launch into the next phase of Inner Might Sports. There will be more reader interaction, products to look at, and introduction of Sports Challenge. See you all in ten days, Chris!
The Labor Day weekend marks the start of a wealth of sports for fans and the media machine. Television viewership goes way up, beer sales implode, recliners and big screen TV sales increase, antacid purchases soar upward well past New Year’s Day.
College football starts the whole parade off by pushing alumni, parents of players, students, gamblers, networks and college towns into a frenzy of fanaticism and psychoanalysis. Something about college football drives average everyday folks into a person who wears bad color combinations and pledge their allegiance to a place that they are still paying off their student loan. Obviously college football can offer something that the NFL cannot and that is nonprofessional athletes that compete for no money. Somebody gets rich off the sport but it’s not the players who risk their wellbeing for either a slim chance at a pro gig or the fun of being on a college football squad. One percent of the college players in America will make it to the NFL, so the other 99 percent will have reminisce about their glory days.
The NFL cranks up in the second weekend and the start the of fantasy football, endless radio talk show banter and beginning of new controversies such as wiretapping of those headsets or tainted Gatorade. But it’s the train wreck we cannot stop watching and it gets into are homes more and more every year. I cannot help but chuckle at the flag post that people have in their yard with their football team flags waving alongside Old Glory. I have seen cars and RV’s transformed into football team mascot mobiles and wonder what s next, NFL beer. They just partner up with Budweiser and slap the NFL logo on it and fans would be draining can after can.
Lost in the shuffle of all of the football frenzy is Serena Williams and her quest for immortality at the US Open to win a Grand Slam in one tennis season. Most sporting fans don’t know about her attempt and this one of a kind record, but then again most people don’t know that the US Open is held in September. If she achieves this monumental endeavor she will be able to take away the press and attention from football for maybe one day.
Of course we have the scramble for the playoffs in Major League Baseball. For the ten teams that have a realistic chance, the fans will be feverishly waiting and hanging on every pitch. Not really but they will want now the score every few innings while they get back to watching football. So two thirds of the leagues fans are looking at next years free agents and wondering who should be traded away while one third is gearing up for the fall classic and seeing baseball in forty degree weather.
Lastly I couldn’t help mention that the World Cup of Rugby is happening in late September and I personally will try to watch it if I can find which channel it may be on. I might have to find a pub and drink an ale while seeing the sport that impresses me more each time I watch. You see, as an American, we have been fed a small plate of sports on television. Since the heyday of Wide World of Sports I have not seen motorcycle ice racing, demolition derbies, weightlifting or heard from Jackie Stewart. I think the time is ripe for a new version of that show and the second coming of Howard Cosell. Cheers, enjoy the month! Read More →
It had been years since I stepped inside a gym. I was the proud new owner of a gym membership, thanks to my big mouth declaring my New Years resolution of shedding twenty pounds. Day one, I lifted a little weight gyrated on some sort of electric monkey bars and rode around a bicycle that went nowhere. After this awesome display of athleticism, I strutted into the locker room to cool down and shower up. As I sat there on the bench, proud and sweaty, I became surrounded by my fellow gym members in various stages of disrobing. It was an awkward moment because I don’t how to act in front of naked people besides my wife. I don’t want to be caught looking at something I shouldn’t be looking at. Whether it shyness, same or guilt, who knows why, sounds like something for Dr. Phil to dissect. Once you are inside the theatre of pain, you can quickly size up the patrons into four types of exercise patrons. First on top of the food chain, are the Gods and Goddesses, the Adonis’ and Venus’. They are buffed and usually tanned with a hint of orangeness to their skin, and their clothes seem to be undersized in all the right places. There are tattoos of barbed wire around biceps and mysterious scripted messages on the lower backs of the women. They have their own area in front of the workout mirror and large weights where no wimps are allowed. Second are the socialites, they are there to meet and great and not be unconvienced with sweat and body odor. They bring their cell phones to declare their status on their Facebook page and Twitter account about how many steps they did on the Stair Master. The males in this grouping are always working on their moves at the juice bar and females wear shorty shorts with messages stamped on the backside. Sure they draw attraction and most men stop pumping iron, and other women sneer, but I think of them as the gym cheerleaders. Third, are the average everyday, Joe Smoes. They are there because they are feeling guilty about munching down pizza and swilling some brewskies down at Chucky Cheese pizza joint. They just want to get through their workout as fast as they can while jamming to tunes in their earphones, mouthing the words and playing air guitar. They get their work outs done, get home, sometimes shower and must always eat something because the guilty feelings they once had are now gone. The last group in which my membership is part are the leftovers, the newbie’s, the guest pass coupon people, the clueless and the lazy. We wear stained sweatpants, cut off jeans and our work clothes. The guy next to me was wearing Florshiem dress shoes on the treadmill. I saluted him as one of my own. We sometimes cause a scene like when we drop a stack of weights that is extremely violent sounding and then followed by dead silence. If I work my way up into the Joe Smoes, I will have to get upgraded sweatpants and learn to control my flatulence in the yoga class. Once I put a good solid year into bodybuilding and I can take off my shirt while I mow my front yard, then the socialites will have to accept my charisma. After three years, and I have continued to pay my gym fees, I can start working out in front of the wall mirrors. I will probably not get the tattoos but my pale and hairy skin could sure use a tan and some manscaping.