Urban Tidepool

Lots of kids dream of playing pro sports. Let’s be clear. I was not one of those kids.

I went today with my fabulous spouse and a few colleagues to a WNBA game. A couple of weeks ago, this same group of folks went to a Chicago Red Stars game. Two sporting events in the same month—that’s the combined total of the number of sporting events I’ve gone to in the last decade.  When I say I am drawn to good sports, you must know that I mean those people who laugh at my jokes, and not any organized effort to capture, fling, kick, corner or even eyeball a spherical object of any size.

I am so not a good lesbian.

At any moment, the Lesbian Association of the Midwest, or LAM, is going to show up at my front door and revoke my membership.  I can see it now—a very disappointed woman named Spike driving a tow truck, backing up in the driveway and calling out, “You don’t like basketball and you know nothing about coaching softball? It’s curtains for you,” right before she puts a big tow truck hook through my Lesbian Association of the Midwest card and hauls it away.

But today was the Pride game for the Chicago Sky, so I gathered with my festive colleagues and prepared to represent the queer community to the best of my ability. I kept an eye peeled for the LAM tow truck the entire time. To my bemusement, I liked it. And not just the hot dog part. I actually liked the game.

Even so, I was never one of those kids who needed to be involved in sports as a child. ( in and of itself probably led to the delay in my figuring out my orientation!)  The only dream I ever had about playing a sport occurred just a few years ago, and not as a pre-occupation of my adolescence.  I’ve never in my life played volleyball. In my dream, I was standing on the volleyball court, watching everyone around me and trying hard not to get myself hurt. When the players rotated, I did so as well, and came to stand in the back corner, and someone immediately dispatched a ball toward me.

I held it between my hands, looking around uncertainly at the other players. “What do I do with this?”

“Serve! It’s your turn!” at least two of them replied.

With a note of indignation I’m not sure I could manage while fully awake, I informed the team and everyone in the stands, “Serve? Don’t you people realize the only thing I’ve ever served is dinner?”

That’s when I woke up laughing. Probably a good thing LAM doesn’t know what I’m dreaming about. I’m just waiting for that tap on my front door. That Spike…I hear she doesn’t have much of a sense of humor about this lack of athletic interest!