It’s mostly accurate that youth sports are the last true, untainted brand of competition. Children are too naive to grasp the concept of money, and too preoccupied with having fun to care about the result, so they just run around and chase a ball for all the character-building reasons, but largely to burn off energy. And that’s great; I just don’t want to watch them, or find kids at play all that entertaining.
This week is Little League World Series week on ESPN, aka the worst stretch of the sports calendar. The Women’s World Cup is a nice consolation prize, yet the starting times aren’t the most accessible, so during prime time, it’s little Timmy versus little Kenny.
Imagine going to the pool with your nephew and having him tell you to “watch me” over and over and over again, for hours, as he flails off the diving board and dog paddles to the edge. Now imagine that child isn’t related to you, and spending an evening at their baseball game.
That’s what it feels like to watch the LLWS. Even the highest level of preteen sports is excruciating viewing. Every now and then, a video goes viral of a 10-year-old, who’s already hit puberty, trucking his way through Pee Wee football, and that’ll hold my attention for the entirety of the TikTok. After that, it’s back to doom scrolling my way to existential dread and anxiety-driven depression.
This is the last month of summer, and while the heat is oppressive and has lost its novelty, I strongly recommend closing this article, putting your phone in a deep recess, and then sitting outside with a cold beverage, staring off into the sky as it fades to night. Football is almost here; school is starting; if your company does summer hours, that’s ending; and winter is coming. Hold onto the present as much as you can, and resist exterior pressures to “grow up.”
Sunscreen has the aroma of zero responsibilities, and coupled with little to no contending teams to scrutinize, there’s absolutely no reason to turn on ESPN at all. I’m honestly shocked you’re still here, and maybe you shouldn’t be because I have half a mind to launch into Nebraska football/Spider-Man fanfiction.
I know I’d read a short story where Tom Osborne never retired, and cybernetically enhanced himself to remain at the top of college football for eternity, but I think I’m in the minority there.
“It’s spring 1998, and Nebraska football is at a crossroads. Tom Osborne’s hand-picked successor, Frank Solich, just died tragically after choking on a Runza. Now, the Big Red are coach-less, and with no one to turn to but the man who won three of the past four national championships.
“Facing the hurdles of an aging mind and body, Osborne knows his unretirement won’t last long in his current form. So, in a moment of desperation and panic, Dr. Tom turned to a person he didn’t know, or really trust, but one who offered him a cure — a path back to his prime. That man, claiming to be somewhat of a scientist himself and a third cousin? Norman Osborn.
“Welcome to Nebraska Cornhuskers: Dark Reign.”
Alright, if you’re still reading, I dare you to tell me that snippet wasn’t more entertaining than the best LLWS game you’ve ever seen. You can’t do it, can you? So, go, enjoy the final month of summer, and if you liked what you read and have an in at Marvel, shoot me a DM (after the writers strike ends, of course).