Winning with homo-field advantage

There’s a new game in town. Not new for everyone, but new for Mr. Waste: flag football.

I have to admit that I was never a big sports fan growing up. Getting picked last for every game on the playground is not an ego booster. Nor does it endear one to playing with balls, even if it means seeing boys naked in the locker room.

Mr. Waste dragged me to my first Broncos stadium game. I had so much fun yelling “In-com-plete!” that I became a football fan myself. It probably helped that the Broncos went all the way to the Super Bowl, and that Ed McCaffery had the best butt in the NFL.

This coming September 21-23 Denver plays host to Gay Bowl XII, the annual national flag-football championship. It’s a big deal, with more than 600 athletes coming in from all parts of the country. Flag football is the new hot sport in Denver, which is home to one of the largest leagues in the country.

I attended the March draft pick at Charlie’s and have never seen so many fit and in-shape people there before – except perhaps the line dancers. It almost made me want to join a team myself, jumping up and down on the sidelines as a cheerleader has my three boobs lactating with excitement. And some of those hotties are bound to get a boo-boo or two, so a nurse’s uniform will be needed in addition to my cheerleading garb.

Athlete: “Ouch, I pulled my groin!”

Me: “Oh, come over here. I think we can pull it a little more than that.”

The flag football draft pick is a Russian roulette orgy. Team captains randomly select both male and female players from the skill pool. This levels the playing field, literally. Each team starts out with an equal advantage. No one plays with the same group of players twice. This also eliminates that grade school fear of being the last pick, though Mr. Waste was still a little apprehensive.

This year the four flag football divisions were named in honor of the Golden Girls – Sophia, Blanche, Rose and Dorothy. Mr. Waste ended up in the Blanche division, or course. Blanche being such a slut and all.

Besides cheerleader and nurse, I’ve been brainstorming some names for the team. Up for consideration are: Royal Pains In The Grass, Fourth and Nine Inches, First Down My Pants, Immaculate Interception and Two Point Perversion. I’m partial to go for that two-point perversion myself.

Though I never liked sports growing up, I still had to play. Being the older of two boys in a family of three means your dad is going to have high expectations for his first-born. I always tell people my parents had one of each – a boy, a girl and me.

My dad enrolled me in little league football and baseball. When I turned out to be most skilled at bench warming, my father decided to take matters into his own hands. So he became the little league baseball coach.

Large and in charge, my dad could ensure his son would play in every game. It was my worst nightmare come true. Not only did I suck at hitting and catching balls, my teammates resented my dad putting me in the game when I clearly was an American-pastime-hot-mess. My skills at baking an apple pie or choking down a big fat hot dog were clearly much better.

Take me out to the ball game. Just don’t make me play.