I'm an Anti-Laxxer

 

Please bear with me, this isn’t an easy thing to admit. Growing up where I did, there are plenty of people who’d prefer if I just kept my mouth shut. Pretended I believed otherwise, et cetera. Luckily, writing with my mouth open is only something I do at the apex of allergy season. Which, I might add, is fast approaching. Any day now achoo.  Hold on, let me grab a tissue.

I hate lacrosse and I always have. I don’t know if it was the weird masks, the strange webbing of the sticks, the little ball that’s flung with extreme velocity or the aimless running. But all in all, these things added up to a despised sport. There’s not the grace of hockey players gliding on ice. Even curlers have a better appreciation of the elements than laxxers. There's none of that.

I know, trust the science, right? Lacrosse is supposed to be good for college applications, making for a well-rounded student who appreciates "nature." I don’t see it. We already have four major sports in the United States and soccer mothers, golf groupies, and equine enthusiasts are biding their time for when that fourth position jostles free. There’s no room for laxxers, not when their pro game is severely lacking in cash. 

It also doesn’t help that Jim Brown, one of this nation’s true gridiron heroes, is considered by many to be the greatest lacrosse player ever. To me, that hurts your argument. You can’t have outsiders, novices, coming into the game and dominating. Most people would admit that David Bowie was a fine actor, in the roles of Pontius Pilate, Andy Warhol, Jeanne d’Arc (it helped that he knew each individual intimately). But imagine, instead, if Bowie was considered the greatest actor of all time. Better than Keanu, better than DDL. That would finish acting as a profession, put thespians back to waiting tables full-time. The same can be said if Gary Sinise’s band somehow surpassed The Beatles in critical appraisals. It’s why I don’t like painting much. Michelangelo was, more than anything else, a sculptor. But then go look at the Sistine Chapel. He put all those swirling brush boys to shame with just a few church panels. It shouldn’t be that easy. People spend their whole lives mastering the art of locking an easel in place and airing out a room full of toxic fumes. And don’t get me started on Mikey’s poetry either.   

You’re probably wondering whether or not my overwhelming love of baseball figures into the debate. Does my passion for infield dirt matter? Should it concern you that when I see healthy trees I can only appreciate them after calculating how many bats they’d produce upon felling. 

Clearly.