This lesbian’s rite of passage

This post is yet another about one of my abject failures in lesbianship: I am not sports minded at all. Whereas J. can claim excellence in every sport she has ever attempted, I cannot. We’re talking national-level champion vs. abject klutz. Yes, I can dress sporty like any good lesbian, but my body is not sporty.

Old black and white picture of women's hockey team

I’m not on the team.

Whereas any true lesbian’s first skates are of the hockey persuasion (real lesbians wore hockey skates long before it was hip for girls to do so), my skates have always been white. I could throw (like a girl) and occasionally catch a softball, but put me on a team and I’d inevitably strike out.

Why would sensitive and loving me care about sports anyhow? I like the Life section in the newspaper, not the Sports section. Give me the human interest stories over the sports stats. Sure, I’m interested in the athletes, but not for how well they play; I care about their social behaviour. Are they nice guys or fighters? Do they do good charity work? How do they treat their child fans? Yes, I care about how they are as people. I guess those behaviours don’t necessarily translate into hockey greatness.

But over the past few years, in an effort to bridge our ever-growing sports gap, I have been peppering J. with very basic questions about sports. I have discovered a new domain of studentship and, as always, I am eager to learn. Hockey, Canada’s national pastime, provides an excellent opportunity for growth. I now understand slashing and roughing–don’t be mean to each other, boys!-and too many men on the ice but I doubt I’ll ever catch an offside before the whistle, even though I know what one is.

Any lesbian in good standing would know that NHL playoffs started this past Wednesday. For the past few years, J. has participated in a hockey pool at work. Each year she puts in $2, hoping to win the pot of $20 or so. And each year she doesn’t win, despite the fact that she chooses her roster wisely.

I’d like to say that I entered this year’s hockey pool of my own volition, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. Rather, on Wednesday, I got an email informing me that I had signed up to participate as “Annie’s Aces”. (I never would have picked that lame name for myself. “Annie’s Get Your Guns”, maybe, or “Annie’s Alliterative Alligators”, but “Annie’s Aces”?) Turns out J. selected my roster over her lunch hour so I could be part of the fun (and so she could using my name to play against herself). Her approach is potentially more lucrative than my choosing my own players, I realize, but it still seems a little shady to me. But J. knows that had I chosen my roster, I’d be at the bottom of the pool heap.

Well, imagine my excitement Thursday morning when I learned I was one point ahead of J. in the standings. But this morning, J. had gained a point over me, and so I said something uncharacteristically unsportswomanlike. In response, J. chastised me for getting all competitive about our standings and threatened to withdraw my entry. Don’t tell her but I think she’s just worried about losing to me.

But what if it turns out J.’s second choices are better than her firsts? Wouldn’t that be ironic? There’s no other way I could beat J. at anything remotely sports related, so here’s hoping. Wish me luck.


4 thoughts on “This lesbian’s rite of passage

  1. Toooo funny A 😜 It’s a lot of luck really, with some knowledge required, that’s all. If you do get to make some changes in a little while, you may want to open up the NHL’s website and see who’s leading playoff scoring…or you could always just fall back and use the old familiar saying like we do out here at the coast: “Maybe next year! ”

    🍻 to Annie’s Aces (AA)



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