Floor general.
Vocal leader.
Douche Bag.
All of these labels resonate synonymously with the guy that “takes recreational athletics a little too seriously.” If you’ve played a rec sport, you may know all too well exactly what or whom I’m referring to.
In the world of business, two of these above labels allegedly don’t often coincide with the third. In recreational sports, they couldn’t be more equivalent to each other.
Along the line between dashed dreams and an unwillingness to embrace reality, there is a permeation that is just wide enough to offer room for the “Rec Sports Douche.” The RSD is widespread, prolific, and usually seen in just about every league across the country, regardless the level of competition. They argue every call, they celebrate a little too much when things go their way, and they are the main reason that refereeing is no longer a commonly volunteered for position.
He’s the quarterback of #Winning! and he calls plays from his wristband. He wears high socks and sports dual ankle braces. He never earned a Varsity letter in high school, but that’s okay, his presence will be known out on the public park field. He’s an athlete only in the sense of being relatively not awful compared to beergut-bearing 40-year-old bald men.
He runs a 5.3/40… He can bomb the ball 30 yards… and he also has a monster 4 foot standing long jump to add to his combine profile. But since forward leaping really isn’t allowed in rec football, he usually has to rely on his 22 inch vert instead.
Standing at 5’9″ and 155 pounds (he’ll round that up to 160), he isn’t exactly imposing, nor do his other attributes leap off the page (which is the page of attributes that he attributed to himself and then uploaded to his Myspace page), but in light of his inadequacies, he’s got loads of heart. Loads upon loads of it. He loudly leads his team with unwavering compassion, he keeps on his players like a Lion over his pride, and he stays tough until his team’s lead is relinquished… and when that time arrives, he begins to act like an absolute bitch.
This chronic bitching leads back to the aforementioned point of most referees no longer volunteering, and this ups YOUR registration cost. If you can’t hate him for being a douche, then you should definitely hate him for being a douche.
Just where did all of this douchey-ness begin? How do we explain the general phenomena of rec sport assholian actions? I’ll try to attempt to trace the psychological derailment back at its source… or at least in the vicinity. Here we go.
After his 6th year of University club athletics, our Rec sports all-star had to keep the fire alive. He had to search and find mediocre competition to dominate. His best bet? Yup. Recreational sports. He immediately commandeered and then captained a team. At first it was a guise to “bring people together,” and to “get to know one another.” But it soon became a Red Army that meets once a week. It didn’t take long for him to find this team of incredibly unlucky people, and it didn’t take long for him to stoke his competitive fire (read: stroke his ego). This competitive fire is stoked in the only fashion possible for a marginally athletic person… by pissing off everyone else that plays rec sports that isn’t like him and doesn’t act like a fat 7-year-old after dropping a twice-licked lollipop in the dirt. He’s knows it’s only for fun, but the only thing that is fun to him is winning. No matter what the cost. Whether he wins on sportsmanlike terms or not is moot to him. It’s binary, you either win or you lose. No in between, no gray area (except in a loss). It’s either a 1 or a 0. When he wins, he rubs it in the face of whom he has conquered in the most obnoxious way possible. When he loses, he whines like Nicole Ritchie having to fly coach.
Think it’s bad when his team wins one game? Try dealing with him after a run to the championship. Coming from a guy that ceaselessly brags about his fantasy football stats, is a Facebook rampage that rivals only that of digital ultrasound photos. If his team brings home the ‘ship, you’ll be reading about it in your newsfeed constantly, and the picture of him hoisting a faux metal trophy will be anchoring his profile for at least three months. And when his team wins a championship once every 29 spring/summer/fall/winter seasons, he not only brags over Facebook, but also raves over every social medium at his disposal. As if his teammates couldn’t possibly hate him any more, he proves to them that he has one more dick move left in the bank. Shortly after the championship game, he runs the world’s shortest trophy negotiation. The trophy ultimately ends up at his place the day of the championship finals, and never leaves. Hell, he even has his own personal engraver… and it’s some 92 year-old guy named Lou who can barely muster the strength to hold the stylus.
But for those of us sympathetic/deeply psychological types, SAVE IT! There is no need to offer this man sympathy… HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND. Yeah, that's right. He somehow has a girlfriend... I’d be the last person who’d be willing to say that some women actually have bad taste in men. C’mon… he’s not a Loser! He’s a winner! You know this. He’s told you countless times by online proxy. Even though everybody hates this guy, the one person that doesn’t hate him… is himself… until he gets home, comes back to the realization that he elevates himself artificially, and then cries underneath the jet streams of a cold shower.
Having a large ego has its peaks and its pitfalls, and there is no more obvious example of the latter than in the case of the Rec sports douche bag. As we go through each stage of life, it is truly understated how important it is to have an identity and what it means to be truly self-aware. Having one without the other is nearly impossible, and having neither is nearly impossible for other people to deal with.
Vocal leader.
Douche Bag.
All of these labels resonate synonymously with the guy that “takes recreational athletics a little too seriously.” If you’ve played a rec sport, you may know all too well exactly what or whom I’m referring to.
In the world of business, two of these above labels allegedly don’t often coincide with the third. In recreational sports, they couldn’t be more equivalent to each other.
Along the line between dashed dreams and an unwillingness to embrace reality, there is a permeation that is just wide enough to offer room for the “Rec Sports Douche.” The RSD is widespread, prolific, and usually seen in just about every league across the country, regardless the level of competition. They argue every call, they celebrate a little too much when things go their way, and they are the main reason that refereeing is no longer a commonly volunteered for position.
He’s the quarterback of #Winning! and he calls plays from his wristband. He wears high socks and sports dual ankle braces. He never earned a Varsity letter in high school, but that’s okay, his presence will be known out on the public park field. He’s an athlete only in the sense of being relatively not awful compared to beergut-bearing 40-year-old bald men.
He runs a 5.3/40… He can bomb the ball 30 yards… and he also has a monster 4 foot standing long jump to add to his combine profile. But since forward leaping really isn’t allowed in rec football, he usually has to rely on his 22 inch vert instead.
Standing at 5’9″ and 155 pounds (he’ll round that up to 160), he isn’t exactly imposing, nor do his other attributes leap off the page (which is the page of attributes that he attributed to himself and then uploaded to his Myspace page), but in light of his inadequacies, he’s got loads of heart. Loads upon loads of it. He loudly leads his team with unwavering compassion, he keeps on his players like a Lion over his pride, and he stays tough until his team’s lead is relinquished… and when that time arrives, he begins to act like an absolute bitch.
This chronic bitching leads back to the aforementioned point of most referees no longer volunteering, and this ups YOUR registration cost. If you can’t hate him for being a douche, then you should definitely hate him for being a douche.
Just where did all of this douchey-ness begin? How do we explain the general phenomena of rec sport assholian actions? I’ll try to attempt to trace the psychological derailment back at its source… or at least in the vicinity. Here we go.
After his 6th year of University club athletics, our Rec sports all-star had to keep the fire alive. He had to search and find mediocre competition to dominate. His best bet? Yup. Recreational sports. He immediately commandeered and then captained a team. At first it was a guise to “bring people together,” and to “get to know one another.” But it soon became a Red Army that meets once a week. It didn’t take long for him to find this team of incredibly unlucky people, and it didn’t take long for him to stoke his competitive fire (read: stroke his ego). This competitive fire is stoked in the only fashion possible for a marginally athletic person… by pissing off everyone else that plays rec sports that isn’t like him and doesn’t act like a fat 7-year-old after dropping a twice-licked lollipop in the dirt. He’s knows it’s only for fun, but the only thing that is fun to him is winning. No matter what the cost. Whether he wins on sportsmanlike terms or not is moot to him. It’s binary, you either win or you lose. No in between, no gray area (except in a loss). It’s either a 1 or a 0. When he wins, he rubs it in the face of whom he has conquered in the most obnoxious way possible. When he loses, he whines like Nicole Ritchie having to fly coach.
Think it’s bad when his team wins one game? Try dealing with him after a run to the championship. Coming from a guy that ceaselessly brags about his fantasy football stats, is a Facebook rampage that rivals only that of digital ultrasound photos. If his team brings home the ‘ship, you’ll be reading about it in your newsfeed constantly, and the picture of him hoisting a faux metal trophy will be anchoring his profile for at least three months. And when his team wins a championship once every 29 spring/summer/fall/winter seasons, he not only brags over Facebook, but also raves over every social medium at his disposal. As if his teammates couldn’t possibly hate him any more, he proves to them that he has one more dick move left in the bank. Shortly after the championship game, he runs the world’s shortest trophy negotiation. The trophy ultimately ends up at his place the day of the championship finals, and never leaves. Hell, he even has his own personal engraver… and it’s some 92 year-old guy named Lou who can barely muster the strength to hold the stylus.
But for those of us sympathetic/deeply psychological types, SAVE IT! There is no need to offer this man sympathy… HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND. Yeah, that's right. He somehow has a girlfriend... I’d be the last person who’d be willing to say that some women actually have bad taste in men. C’mon… he’s not a Loser! He’s a winner! You know this. He’s told you countless times by online proxy. Even though everybody hates this guy, the one person that doesn’t hate him… is himself… until he gets home, comes back to the realization that he elevates himself artificially, and then cries underneath the jet streams of a cold shower.
Having a large ego has its peaks and its pitfalls, and there is no more obvious example of the latter than in the case of the Rec sports douche bag. As we go through each stage of life, it is truly understated how important it is to have an identity and what it means to be truly self-aware. Having one without the other is nearly impossible, and having neither is nearly impossible for other people to deal with.
