Inept

I'll be the first to admit it: I know NOTHING about sports. I'm woefully, criplingly, embarrassingly ignorant when it comes to the highs, lows, trades and terminology of athletics — professional and otherwise. You all know this already.

I used to think that playing a sport would help me understand it.

Volleyball, yes.

Softball, not so much.

I remember that in high school, my parents' friend was coaching a girls' softball team and needed a "warm body" to round out his roster. My parents "volunteered" me and let me know about it when the friend's daughter brought over the white pants for me to try on. (My parents frequently "volunteered" my brother and me for things ... I'm still not sure how grateful — or not — I am for that)

I remember that my shirt was pink, which made me happy.

I remember being told that the way I held my glove to catch a ground ball would lead to a split-open chin (which didn't change the way I held my glove — a split-open chin might get me out of this gig).

I remember standing way out on one side of the field or another, wondering what the heck was going on and thinking it would be the meanest, most brilliant trick of my teammates if they just chose to not let me know when it was time to head back in and left me out there when the other team took the field, because I had no clue what was going on.

I prayed with a fervence that would have made Martin Luther proud that the ball would stay as far away from me as possible and that I wouldn't have to run any great distance in any direction — because I ran like a ballerina: On my tippy-toes. Like a wuss. Like someone who didn't know what she was doing.

It was the same way on the volleyball court, but I also had a fantastic serve, a great block and a terrifying dive that helped make up for the fact that I ran like the girliest of girly-girls.

I've pretty much given up on the experience-as-teacher method of understanding sports. I opt for sitting next to a fella who seems to know what he's cheering about and I simply admit my gormlessness: "I don't understand what just happened. Can you explain what the guy did with the thingy when he ran to that one place?"

I'm so intriguingly dumb that they can't help but be sucked in and explain sports to me. I think it's one of my most brilliant self-education tactics ever. They use small words and draw pictures on napkins and use hand gestures ... it's fabulous.

And that's how I finally learned last year what a first down is and why it's important.

Football makes a lot more sense.

And I still run like a wuss.