FANtastic

Trying the NaBloPoMo thing again, which may be foolish, since I'm totally swamped with work and about to go on vacation...

Anyway, the word for the month of June, from the NaBloPoMo powers that be, to inspire bloggers as they try to muster up 30 days of things to say, is "fan".

I was thinking about all the meanings of that word, whether to fan yourself, turn on a fan to keep cool, or to be a fan... I'm not much of a fan. I don't get overly impressed with people or teams. Not to say I don't like certain actors or athletes, or what have you, I just don't get obsessive about it. I was analyzing myself on this topic, and I think it may have to with my lack of competitive spirit. I am a fairly cooperative type, and have never understood the point of all that "us against them" sort of behavior. Can't we all just get along? Not to say that I don't want to do the best I can, I just don't care if I do better than someone else. Your pie is better than mine? Hurray for you! You can run faster/jump higher/type faster/do whatever better than I can? Go for it! The exception to this may be trivia, because I do like to win at trivia.

Anyway, this lack of competitive understanding makes me completely disinterested in sports. I do not understand how people get so into watching grown men trying to beat each other at a game, usually through aggressive shows of force. I particularly do not get the whole "we're winning" when you, in fact, are drinking a beer and watching them play. It all holds absolutely no appeal for me.

Even with that being the case, I recently went to a baseball game, with a group of friends and family. The company was pleasant, though it was blisteringly hot, and I honestly had no investment in the game whatsoever. Small One, on the other hand, was into it. She really wanted to be in the game, not just watching. When our friend told her she could run around the bases after the game, she was so excited she could hardly stand it! "When," she asked, "will this game EVER be OVER?"

When it finally was over, she eagerly went down and ran the bases. She was definitely one of the smaller kids out there, and it was pretty funny, watching her little legs pumping around the field. We clapped and cheered, and when she came off the field, we told her how well she'd done, but she only had one question. "Did I WIN?!?"

I guess she inherited the competitive gene from her daddy. Who knows? We may even have unwittingly produced a sports fan.