For the Love of Sport

Some time ago, my Bombshell came into JBB World HQ lamenting her lack of sportsy knowledge. As she perched on Trusty Editor Oline’s desk reapplying her red lipstick and fluffing her leopard-print skirt, my Bombshell asked in exasperation: “Who the hell can teach me about this sports stuff?” Trusty Editor Croftie leaned over and whispered to Trusty Editor Oline: “Le Jock!”

Thus, for one night and one night only, Jack Black’s Body brought together Jack Black’s Bombshell and Jack Black’s Jock for an epic meeting at a quaint French restaurant, where the pair talked bats and balls until the wee hours of the morning, as my Trusty Editors hid in the corner scribbling as fast as they could.

[Curtain up.]

Bombshell: So, dear Jock.

Jack's Jock: Yes, lovely Bombshell?

Bombshell: (leaning in over her crêpe, her baby blue eyes opened wide) I’ve decided that I need to understand a bit more about sports. Because… well, my boy tells me that he thinks the life of a bombshell is kind of pricey. What with my bombtastic clothes and such. But he’s so into sports, and I just read in the paper some baseball team just spent more than $100 million on a pitcher named Dicey J, or something like that. So, just what is it with the wide world of sports? How can one guy be worth so much money?

Jack's Jock: (cracking his knuckles in excitement) Well, my dear… let us start with this “Dicey J.” Or rather Daisuke Matsuzaka (Dice-uh-kay Mat-soo-Zah-kah). People in Boston, where the Red Sox just picked him up, are buying tee shirts with a pair of dice and the letter K on them for simplicity’s sake. But in one of the more difficult contract negotiations in the world of sports, Daisuke was bought out of his contract from a Japanese baseball team, the Seibu Lions. Fifty-one million dollars of that went to pay the team for releasing him. Daisuke will get the remainder over the next six years. Which is a lot… but is certainly not the most expensive contract in baseball.

Bombshell: But why choose this guy from Japan?

Jack's Jock: He’s a legend there. His win/lose record is extremely impressive. He’s got at least four different pitches to trip up batters. It’s a gamble, but Seattle did the same thing years ago when they picked up Ichiro Suzuki from a Japanese team, and he’s been their star player ever since.

Bombshell: OK, Jock. I think I see what you mean about Dice-K. But I’m still not sure I understand what the big deal is about this baseball thing. What about those “Play-Offs” that had me in a tizzy? Men all over this city were strangely emotional. The Bombshell does not enjoy being ignorant of what’s happening in the sphere of men. What’s worse, I felt completely unequipped to deal with this, because—well, Jock—I don’t know anything about “sports.”

Jack's Jock: Those play-offs had me in whatever the burly, manly version of a tizzy is, too. A man-tizzy? A manizzy? Yes... a manizzy. Not out of confusion, but because it was the World Series, baby! A series so big it only happens every October! Which I know sounds often, since it’s annual—but just come along with me on that one. So yeah... emotions were running high.

Bombshell: (blinks eagerly and bounces in her seat with anticipation) But I still have questions, Jock, a lot of them. That whole week, my boyfriend wouldn’t let me wear red. Why was that, Jock?

Jock: Your beau was likely having you swear off red because he's a Tigers boy... and his team was playing the Cardinals of St. Louis—who are always draped in red—for THE ring. The World Series ring.

Bombshell: And why ever is it called the World Series? It’s really just the American Series, right? Or will the winner go on to play the Tokyo Blowfish or the Vienna Spatzels?

Jock: Well, this World Series doesn’t actually involve the entire world. But there is a real World Series: the World Baseball Classic. Players from all over the world participate, so that one’s a real contest from teams all over the globe. However, Major League American baseball has become very much an international affair. You can start by going back to our good and expensive friend Daisuke. And from there, just look at the rosters of all the MLB teams: Ichiro Suzuki, David "Big Papi" Ortiz, Edgar Renteria, Bobby Abreu, Chien-Ming Wang, Adam Loewen—he's Canadian, but it counts, Carlos Guillen... You get where I'm going. America invented baseball and athletes come from all over the world to play on our turf. And when we have our World Series, the world watches, Bombsy!

Bombshell: Here's another question for you, Jock: If a team is good, why all this shuffling around and trading of players? I mean, if you've got a full house, why give away your best cards?

Jock: (put his fingers to his temples and squints across the table) It’s all a matter of contracts and trades and prospects and such. Players sign different agreements for different amounts of money for different lengths of times. Their contracts can be sold to other teams for “young guns” in the bullpen, or fresh blood in the infield. Only a perfect team with perfect chemistry can carry you all the way to the World Series.

Bombshell: Do managers and coaches change every year, too? Where’s the continuity?

Jock: Contracts for managers and coaches are deliberated in much the same way. It’s all about contracts, contracts, contracts. So much of sports is about the team’s President & CEO, not the team’s coach. Your Epsteins & Steinbrenners. The corporation or private businessman footing the bill.

Bombshell: It's all a little promiscuous if you ask me...

Jock: It’s a dirty business of Benjamins to back the big buck bonds each body in every band of ball players bears.

Bombshell: Dirty, indeed.

Jock: But sometimes buying talent isn’t all there is to it. Look at the Yankees. They have some of the best talent in baseball and bought the incredible Bobby Abreu this season to bolster their post-season chances. But it still wasn’t enough. So much of managing a team and putting the right players together is a gamble.

Bombshell: (pauses in thought) I suppose I can understand the draw of baseball, even from afar... The lazy summer afternoons and sunflower seeds. It’s all rather romantic. But what about this football business, Mr. Jock? What is so interesting about a bunch of enormous men running up and down a field for hours on end? What are they doing out there?

Jock: My Bombshell, students of war can answer this one. But since we don’t have any of those around at the moment, I’ll do my best. Football is essentially a war on a battlefield. But rather than acquiring land and conquering the enemy’s army, you’re moving a ball downfield.

Bombshell: Ok, I can give you the war analogy. But I hear that football’s a "complicated and intricate" game, and I just don’t get it. What’s so complicated about moving a ball down a field? What’s so intricate about men running into each other?

Jock: Yes, the offensive and defensive lines do seem to just run into each other. But there really is so much intricacy to what you see in a football game. It’s a test of strength and skill. Can you protect your quarterback? Can you work the ball through the line or pass it successfully downfield? As the defense, can you force a loss of yards? Can you get the sack? The fumble? Getting the ball downfield isn’t just scoring. They do look to be just running back and forth. But what’s really happening here is a clash of brains and brawn.

Bombshell: But what’s the intrigue of football? Is it the cheerleaders? Take a moment and extol the fabulousness of football for the Bombshell, if you will. Tell me what all the fuss is about. I just don’t get it, Jock!

Jock: It’s totally the cheerleaders. No, actually, it’s the players, not the ladies, who create the intrigue. Every man will tell you that when we were boys, football players seemed almost like superheroes. Because they’re covered in shoulder pads and helmets, they can take massive hits and often get up unhurt and keep playing. And this way, we don’t feel bad when a game’s over because no one’s actually killing anyone. What you’re seeing on the football field each week is men reliving the Romanesque clash of warriors.

Bombshell: But I know plenty of ladies who watch football. What’s in it for them?

Jock: Maybe they just like all the muscles and tight pants.

Bombshell: I know I do! But not even those muscles and delightfully tight pants can keep me interested for an entire game. If I’m going to date a sports fan, I want to appreciate more than just the players’ physiques. I want to know what’s going on. My fella tells me this season isn't over until APRIL! Basketball and hockey are going now, too, and I’ve got so much to learn! Just in case I get stuck down at Seamus McDunlay's Pub watching the football, give me a crash course of useful terminology, would ya? And throw in some wickedly expert terms too. So far all I have is "Run the Buttonhook!" "Pound the Ball!" and "Sack!" That last one's my favorite. How often does a girl get to yell "sack" in public?

Jock: Well first and foremost, let me say I don't think any man can actually resist a woman screaming, "Pound the ball!" Yowzah! But if you want a bit more, be willing to discuss the benefit of a two-point conversion—this is when the team runs the ball back into the end zone instead of kicking the extra point after a touchdown. Go to the website of your boy’s team, and read a little bit about the quarterback. Check his regular season win/lose record.

Bombshell: That sounds like a good idea. I do want to be, you know, like..."supportive" of his love of the game, so I’ll learn all I can. But I don’t actually want to have to give up my life to sports… Jock, how to I wrangle my tiger away from the television without creating resentment?

Jock: Bombsy, my girl... it's really all about balance. If one of the biggest games of the seasons is on, realize the boy will be much happier the next time he sees you if he got to watch his game, whether his team won or lost. But if there's something major going down, like your sister's wedding or your grandmother made a home-cooked meal just for him, and he just keeps saying, "Baby, the game is on!" Well, then just inform him that tonight he can go to bed, not with you, but with Neil Everett and Scott Van Pelt—the boys from ESPN's SportsCenter.

Bombshell: It's funny you should say that, because Scott Van Pelt IS my boyfriend. Small world.

Jock: Oh my God! Can I meet him?

[Curtain down.]