Tuesday, November 23, 2004

[I'll pretend I still have readers, after yesterday's unbecoming (but not to be deleted) meltdown.]

A conversation I just had, with one of the two male co-workers (out of 12 or so) who've been able to force themselves to accept that I'm a credible sports-chat participant:

B: So what'd you think about the big suspension?

J [reddening, unsure if I will be able to remain coherent and professional]: I . . . I like Ron Artest.

B: Oh me too, he's a hell of a basketball player, very good player, but -

J: No, that's not what I mean, I don't just mean I like him as a basketball player, I mean that . . . well, I'm a female sports fan, and I have certain . . . soft spots that male sports fans don't seem to have, and [increasingly aware I am losing control of my mouth and my tear ducts] . . . with Artest, see, and others like him, if I feel like a player has certain vulnerabilities, you know?

B [says nothing, is looking rather strained]

J: So I feel . . . I feel . . . that's just it really, I feel too goddamn much, like a big dumb girl [tears now surely visible, but not yet spilling], and I see that certain players who are taken to be thuggish are really just hurting, and -

[Remainder of exchange omitted for reasons pertaining to self-esteem]
The point of recording this conversation (such as it was) here? Credibility, however hard-fought, can be squandered in seconds.


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