Friday, October 01, 2004
Quite a while ago I went to see Dodgeball, lusting for something non-intellectual, non-polically correct to delve into. After having seen the film (which was quite sweet), my cinema-companion expressed surprise that this game actually exists, and not only in the sick minds of American film-makers. I duly found the International Dodge Ball Federation's web-site, which maps out a long tradition of human beings (grown-up and children, male and female alike) slamming balls into each others' body parts. Last week (I believe, or was it the week before?) the film premiered in Denmark and I read a Danish review of the film.
And suddenly it struck me!
In Danish it's called høvdingebold! And I have been exposed to this many a time in school, being forced onto the court, being (inevitably) picked last, after the asthmatic, bespectacled girl and the really short guy, who cried if he forgot his lunch box. Then I'd be pelted with orange, foamy balls (at least we didn't use basket balls), while my team makes would bemoan my lack of aim, dedication and forcefulness.
And this is why, to this day, I hate ball games.
I do not just not enjoy them, or would not just rather do without, nay, I hate them. Hate them, hate them, hate them.
They remind me of smelly feet and sour gym-floors, or rippled asphalt and boyish elbows which, since I'm rather short, would end up in my face. They remind me of the mysterious virus, the prettiest girls always would end up with, just when the games were about to begin, and the sheer stupidity of teenage boys in gym shorts. Overzealous teachers in sweatpants.
The only types of sports I can deal with these days (actively, I mean, I can watch all sorts of sport without breaking into a sweat) are badminton (God knows why), er...and that's pretty much it. Sometimes I go for a run (last time, 2002) and a swim (preferably in an outside pool somewhere tropical), but other than that -
I can see the functionality of sports; they keep you fit, they're good for you. But I guess I just don't have that killer mentality. And I partly blame dodgeball.
And suddenly it struck me!
In Danish it's called høvdingebold! And I have been exposed to this many a time in school, being forced onto the court, being (inevitably) picked last, after the asthmatic, bespectacled girl and the really short guy, who cried if he forgot his lunch box. Then I'd be pelted with orange, foamy balls (at least we didn't use basket balls), while my team makes would bemoan my lack of aim, dedication and forcefulness.
And this is why, to this day, I hate ball games.
I do not just not enjoy them, or would not just rather do without, nay, I hate them. Hate them, hate them, hate them.
They remind me of smelly feet and sour gym-floors, or rippled asphalt and boyish elbows which, since I'm rather short, would end up in my face. They remind me of the mysterious virus, the prettiest girls always would end up with, just when the games were about to begin, and the sheer stupidity of teenage boys in gym shorts. Overzealous teachers in sweatpants.
The only types of sports I can deal with these days (actively, I mean, I can watch all sorts of sport without breaking into a sweat) are badminton (God knows why), er...and that's pretty much it. Sometimes I go for a run (last time, 2002) and a swim (preferably in an outside pool somewhere tropical), but other than that -
I can see the functionality of sports; they keep you fit, they're good for you. But I guess I just don't have that killer mentality. And I partly blame dodgeball.
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