2

We Ain't Got a 1-Track Mind

Some people (okay, by people, I mean all women) are under the impression that men only have a one-track mind. Now, I find that quite insulting. Reducing us to a single track? You gotta be kidding me. So, yeah, we watch a lot of sports. Some of us even play one, on an occasion or two. But that doesn't mean it's the only thing we ever think about! Or are capable of participating in. I mean, c'mon, ladies. Are you forgetting S-E-X? Hello? We do think about that a lot too. Just in case you needed to be clued in.

So sure, we might be arithmetically-challenged (but according to the studies, not as arithmetically-challenged as you), but that doesn't mean we can't add one and one together and get two. D'oh. Two tracks. Not one. Let's start with the first.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame -- Or Just Let Me Sit On My Couch and Watch It Without You Bothering Me

This is something that probably has kept you up nights thinking about. Probably taken up many a- Grande Mocha Soy Lattes with your girlfriends: Why the hell are these guys so into their sports?

Let me begin the answer by saying that sports helps put food on the table, the kids through school and the Nordstorms credit card in your Gucci purse. You think I jest?

Okay, first off, I am not saying you need to be a sports groupie to cash in on this wave of goodwill -- although it wouldn't hurt! I'm saying that the world is a competitive beast, and a man who has been weaned on sports has a distinct advantage over those that were weaned on, say, granola, bean sprouts and Birkenstalks. Okay, low blow, I took a shot at the hippies. God love em. Or Jesus, or Jah, or whoever they're into this week.

An athlete has the desire to win.

Okay, so winning's not everything, except in America, but it sure helps spin those bean sprouts into a fat steak every so often.

You're probably thinking: Okay, I almost buy that, but what about a guy who isn't an athlete, but he uses his brain to succeed? Let's call him, um, Bill Gates. News flash: Computers are just as much a sport for Bill Gates as groupies were to Wilt Chamberlain. You ever seen the workout someone gets from typing? And, okay, Bill's putting food on the table, and supplies you with a maximum amount of credit cards, but do you really want to come home to see him waiting for you with the covers down in his Mickey Mouse boxers? Okay, low blow, now I'm picking on NERDS! And really there's no definitive recipe on this, no one type of man who has a leg up on another (unless you're some androgynous Cirque du Soleil dude or Siegfried or Roy), but sports help men learn the game of life.

"No way!" you say. My husband sits on his duff all day watching sports, and the only thing it gets me is more chips to clean up between the cushions. "You cannot be serious!"

Skipping right along, men enjoy their sports for many, many other reasons, all which relate to learning about life. But first, a little quote from Henry Ford: "The seemingly unattainable is realized through the resolve of many." (Wonder if this is strategically placed above the plant door, so Ford's minimum wage worker bees can get fired up every day.)

1) Mystery. We learn to accept that we cannot decide the outcome, only play (root) our best and "let go" into the journey. Now, if that doesn't make sports sound mystical, I don't know what else could.

2) Chemistry. Not the class kind. We left that for the Henry Ford/Bill Gates of the world to complete in high school while we were out getting stoned on Loadie Lane. Chemistry in terms of camaraderie. And, no, we don't just like the camaraderie for the pats on the ass. We enjoy being in a situation where a group of people (okay, by people, I mean men) can cooperate enough to become one unit (a unit that doesn't have to get paid $3 an hour working for Henry Ford).

And, sure, we could also learn to do that kind of thing in the army, but we've seen Michael Moore's movie, and we don't think the army would be such a fun place for us to mingle. (Hey, party on the Iraqi Sea tonight dudes!)

No, we prefer to come together on the playing field. Which, if we're talking hockey, can almost be perceived as treacherous as Iraq. Oh right, that is, when they're in season.

Chemistry is a beautiful thing. Five men coming together to put a ball through a hoop. Pure genius. Mainly because they get paid a gazillion dollars to do such a simple task. This is where the groupie part comes in. Not that we're trying to encourage you to go after men who play sports -- the successful ones. We'd just like, as a team (okay, by team, I mean men), to be appreciated for the things we bring to the table. Which wouldn't be sprouts and granola. Unless, of course, you like that kind of thing, and you're hot. In that case, we'll bring you any damn thing you want. Because, pleasing you, so we can reap the benefits (okay, by benefits, I mean S-E-X), is high on our list of things to do this week. It comes right after: S-P-O-R-T-S.

Everything You Needed To Know About Why Men Are Such Horndogs But Were Afraid To Ask

It's called procreation. So there. If you need any more help on this matter, consult D-A-R-W-I-N.

When Two Tracks Collide

Okay, so, yes, I admit, on occasion, our two tracks have been known to collide. Okay, more than on occasion. Let's say: obsessively. That's right, men turn sex into a sport. And the irony is, we learn that shit from junior high PE class, while we're sitting in the locker room, either dressing for class, or pretending to shower afterwards.

It's always the same thing. The questions start from somewhere. Usually from some alpha male who, on occasion., has gotten to see his little sister or cousin naked. He thinks he is Hugh Hefner. Heck, maybe he was Hugh Hefner. It's always the same: "You get laid yet?" "Did you fuck her?" "Because I've been getting some." The rest of us are sitting around impressed, not knowing he is referring to his cousin- - and only the pictures his uncle gives him of her.

And there's nothing else for Troop Puberty to do but start inventing our own stories, for fear of being, gasp, called a fag. Right then, the demon seed is born (hopefully not "Chucky" too). And for the rest of our lives, or at least until we get to high school and actually do get laid, maybe once, we are on a quest to put into action what we so blatantly lie about.

Sex becomes sport. To save face. To ride the coattails of machismo. From there, it's all downhill. It just keeps getting more out of hand. Until, sex surpasses football, basketball and baseball, as our favorite sport, and we are finally able to get laid on a regular basis. This is when reality catches up to the lies and we turn into "Serial Fucker." Mr. Notches On the Belt, you know the routine. Some of us never grow out of it. Okay, most of us never grow out of it. That's why we still go to strip clubs after we get married: we need more notches! We don't care if we have to pay for them. They're still notches, aren't they?

And, yes, I admit, the serial fucking kind of tends to color our relationships bad. Unless our significant other is all for it, and she invites her girlfriends over to feed our need. Which is way cool with us. As long as their not serving granola and sprouts and they've shaved under their pits.

"We Ain't Got a 1-Track Mind" is from an ongoing series titled: The Guy Report.