watch out! I'm athletic!

Is there such a thing as beginner's luck?

A valid question, one that ranks in the upper eschelon of important questions, like "why do bad things happen to good people" and "since cats land on their feet and buttered toast lands buttered side down, what would happen if you tied buttered toast to a cat?"

Well, I'm here to tell you that this particular question has been definitively answered. To wit: I played touch football today and didn't suck too badly!

My friends Neil and Michelle, who have a swank-ass apartment near Prospect Park, put together a touch-football-and-pancakes affair this morning, which meant that I hauled my ass out of bed far earlier than I wanted to, and dragged it parkwards before ten. I coerced my dear, sweet (single) friend Jimmy (ladies?? he's lovely!) to go with me, and Neil's friends Matt and Deb rounded out our sextet.

Now, I'd like to point out one possible reason for my fantastic prowess at football: among those assembled to play were an actor, a director, a composer, a conductor, a singer and, well, me. We may not have been the studliest crowd in the park (there were some budding three-year-old soccer stars), but we were definitely the smartest, most creative and possibly least good smelling one!

We set up a field and started playing, with mismatched teams and a field strewn with leaves, poo and a stray pair of underwear. (We covered the poo with leaves, which, much to our chagrin, didn't really solve the problem.) I got a little confused and started playing a sort of basketball-like defense, with my arms all akimbo, waving wildly, hooting madly and generally looking like a spastic lunatic. That worked to freak out Neil more than once, so I kept it in my playbook. Another popular move of mine was kicking the leaves into the wind and shouting "LEAF DISPLAY! LEAF DISPLAY!"

Jimmy was the real athlete on the field (gals, I'm telling you, he's terrific!) designing plays like "you run down the field and I'll throw it to you" and "ok, just go and we'll see what happens." Matt was about nine feet tall, which often interfered with any intended plans (yeah, without Matt they'd have gone off without a hitch), and Michelle was all kinds of sassy, which made me fall on my ass laughing more than once.

Deb had a GREAT interception... and proceeded to run in the wrong direction with it.

The halftime show was provided by the cutest Australian sheepdog this side of fluffiness, and the eau de merde that followed us home was provided by Jimmy's Poo Shoes.

After a morning of sheer athleticism (and belly laughs that winded me more than the game ever could), we retired to the swanky apartment for pancakes. Jimmy told me that if I wasn't the MVP (I did score more than a couple of touchdowns, but that was really mostly luck), I was at least the most improved player.

My strategy? Suck so badly when you begin that there's nowhere to go but up.