Yes, you read that right. My groin feels like it was rabbit punched by a…well a rabbit I suppose. I don’t mean my _________________ (insert euphemism for male genitalia here). I mean my actual groin muscle.
Because I’m a masochist. Not your average whips and chains amateur BS either. I get into real torture; stuff that leaves weaker men pale and sweaty in the corner singing “It’s a small world” over and over.
That’s right: I play intramural soccer.
I’m not sure what possesses me to subject myself to such humiliation and pain but I can only assume that I have some unresolved emotional baggage stemming from the heating vent connecting my bedroom to my parents’ bedroom in the house I grew up in (I wish I was joking).
You’re probably saying to yourself, “It can’t be that bad, right?” (The soccer, not the squeaky bed that haunted my youth.)
My team, which is composed of fellow grad students, is a good group. We have fun. Some of us are pretty good (not me) and some of us haven’t played organized soccer since elementary school (me). Unfortunately, because we’re poor overburdened grad students (aka lazy) we signed up late and we got put in the only slot left: the intramural equivalent of FIFA. That means we’re playing undergrads (5-12 years younger) that all played high school soccer together and just missed getting a D1 scholarship.
Seriously, these kids are good. In our two games thus far we’ve lost by a cumulative score of 30-0 (or something like that, at some point nobody keeps track). AND THEY’RE FAST. I can’t even take out my frustration by running them over ‘cause I can’t catch them!
The thing is: it’s fun. We have a good time. I’ll be out there again next week, sore groin and all.
Wish me luck!