1. After I suggested breaking up, you decided to have “a good cry” at the Most Important Basketball Game Ever Played.
Am I wrong to assume the waterworks are bringing you old-fashioned catharsis? Should I be frightened at how your face twists and contorts with wild, emotive energy? After the game tonight, will you glance at SportsCenter video clips and see that when your steady cascade of mascara trickled out from the ashes of your soul, I pretended to be mesmerized by the mascot’s slam dunk?
I’ve described your “girlfriend outburst” to the NBA fan sitting next to me as “disruptive” and “at worst, manipulative.” It’s damage control after the Kiss Cam spotted you launching snot-covered tissues onto home court.
2. While you were performing whole-body convulsions in your seat, I was chaperoning your twin nephews for the 3-point shooting contest at halftime.
From the stands, a 3-pointer looks easy. I’m here to report that, no, it’s not easy. That three-point line is very intimidating. Especially when two kids are calling you common, derogatory names.
On the subject of kids, did you catch how your nephew — I won’t specify which one, but you can guess — stole my left shoe? Really, who does that?
Solo-shoed and verbally abused, I nailed the deep triple because I’m Mister Clutch. Yeah that’s right. I won a Toyota pickup truck for your 7-year-old nephews and it hasn’t occurred to you to say thank you.
3. Your emotions will get the four of us kicked out of the stadium. OR, I’ll be tapped for my exceptionally gifted athletic skills.
Suppose your ruckus causes a spectator to challenge me to a throwdown. Didn’t I prove that I’m a top-notch athlete at halftime? Isn’t it plausible, then, that a friendly jerk might see your excess of untethered grief and GET IN MY FACE ABOUT IT? I imagine he’ll say, “Tell your woman to control her pitiful lip quiver — heyyyy, you’re fun to watch, bet you dominated hoops in college. Wanna join our adult basketball league? Or whatever.”
Incredibly enough, I have to accept.
Why? Because I’m a bball phenom.
Let’s face it, I need to deflect attention away from the geyser of all eyeball eruptions. Thanks to your eye mopping, I’m going to have to play charity tournaments with lawyers and ex-fire chiefs. I know what you’re thinking, and yes, it’s back to team jerseys. Basketball is my calling now.
4. Brightly-colored sports drinks.
The fuel that every champion ingests will now be my sole source of nutrition. Fuel is good. Is Gatorade basically poison and drinking it is a deadly mistake if you’re not in junior high? What if I prefer to bring my own thermos of hot soup broth? When I draw a foul, do I have to be an asshole about it? I’d like to think illegal personal contact is relatively tame nowadays. Do mouth guards protect against concussions?
Sorry. You go right ahead. Keep on crying. Where did it all go wrong for us?
Wait a minute. Maybe my semi-pro basketball league meets on weeknights… That’s super. Just super!
5. There goes night school and everything else in my life!
Don’t be surprised if my approach to hygiene becomes lackadaisical. I’m merely on this Earth to pass, dribble, defend, steal, rebound, set screens, and shoot. I demonstrate mad playmaker skills and suddenly I’m the bad guy!
Where are my manners?
They’re with the now-cancelled appointment that was going to heal my throbbing toothache. It seems I don’t have time for such frivolity as urgent medical care.
Don’t worry: waiting at a red light, I’ll self-check for cysts and lumps or any other bulbous protrusion I can humanly find on the outside layer of my clothing. I’ll be fine. I’d like to stress, once again, that because of today, all my free time is extinct. Kaput. Adiós. Ciao.
I show off my iconic one-legged shot and, next thing you know, I’m sleeping alone on a local gym mat where I contract herpes gladiatorum. I’m shitting myself at the possibility.
First it’s an ugly-cry. Then life ends. How can you vulgarly full-sob when it’s MY RELAXED, QUIET WEEKNIGHTS flying out the window?!? Why should this be “embarrassing for me”?
I’ve become irrational? It could happen! I could get scouted by the National Basketball Association!
Why are you laughing? I never thought I’d say this, but wow, I’m experiencing abdominal pain. Pretty sure this is what an alley-oop feels like for older folks. I think the hostile mascot elbowed me.
Overall, I’m fine, but every part of my body hurts and I’m now crying. I CAN CRY! Athletes handle adversity in different ways. You wouldn’t understand.
You’re going to understand my feelings at a spit-free zone? There’s no way my scrunched-up face, open mouth, and dripping snot make me look like death.
I’m your boyfriend!
What do you mean “was”? I was your boyfriend…
You’re breaking up with me? Imagine for a second, me, your boyfriend, as an NBA All-Star. Now imagine me forgiving you for purging your sadness at this sporting event… Wait. Wait!