brandi chastain knows sports

Once Gwen got her clock situation situated and set them ahead so that she was following the ‘correct’ time, as opposed to ‘Gwen-Time’ which she was set to last Sunday, we rescheduled for dinner. I met her and my friend Randy the other night where we started off with several appetizers of the liquid variety.

“You know,” Randy told us, “this was one of the lowest watched Olympics this past year.” Randy, by typical male conversation standards, keeps up with all things ‘sports’ simply so he’ll always have something to discuss. ‘Football, baseball, even lacrosse…this way, no matter where I go, I’ll be able to talk to anybody I meet.’

“There’s just no pizzazz to the Olympics,” I said. “Now, remember a few years ago during the summer Olympics when Brandi Chastain pulled off her shirt after scoring the winning goal in women’s soccer. That’s what we need more of in women’s sports. It’s pure marketing genius!”

“What? Pulling her shirt off is marketing genius?” Gwen asked. “You can’t be serious! This is what it’s going to take to get guys to take women’s sports seriously? We have to strip down to our sports bras?”

“That would get me watching more women play sports,” Randy replied. “If those ice skaters would pull off their tops when they nailed a triple axle, I would start paying closer attention.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “A slam dunk in the WNBA and someone’s shirt comes off. A nice drive on the LPGA tour and another shirt comes off. A clean landing on the uneven bars and off comes another shirt. No bowling, though. As a country, I feel that we need to draw the line somewhere.”

“Absolutely,” Randy agreed. “Bowlers should definitely remain clothed whenever possible. Beach volleyball, on the other hand, is a completely different story.”

“You guys are nothing but pigs,” Gwen told us. “What about us women? Why can’t guys pull off their shirts when they do something like hit a homerun in baseball, huh?”

“Believe me,” Randy told her, “with all those steroids in baseball, it’s never going to happen.”

“Why?” Gwen asked. “I’d be happy to see a bunch of half-naked ball players.”

“Have you seen Barry Bonds lately? Those steroids have made his head so huge, it would take him half an inning to get it through the neck hole of his shirt.”

“Randy’s right,” I said to Gwen. “His head looks like a pumpkin nowadays. Compare pictures of him now and when he used to be a Pirate. Normal sized head then, enormous pumpkin head now.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you guys have it so tough! Forget about us women and all the unrealistic standards for beauty that we’re held to. You’re biggest concern is about getting a large head from steroids!”

“And shrunken balls,” I added, “but I’m glad that you’re beginning to gain a better understanding of how hard it is being a guy.”

It was at this point that she threw an ice cube from her Long Island Iced Tea at my head. Yet another thing that us men have to endure at the hands of the female population.