Jeff Eisenberg E-mail Eisenberg at
jeisenbe@media.ucla.edu.
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We’ve all seen them before lurking near the steps at the
Wooden Center, or in front of the gate at Drake Stadium. Clad in
sleeveless T-shirts and workout shorts, they inhabit universities
throughout the nation, emerging on weekdays in the afternoon just
before the sun begins to set.
They are the “Intramural Sports Guys,” and they have
infiltrated the campus sports scene intent on putting the
“wreck” back into recreation.
Self-absorbed, vicious and violent, this army of future Al Bundy
clones are bitter ex-jocks with no hope of competing on the varsity
level in college.
Instead, once a week, they take out their frustrations on
unsuspecting teammates and opponents who are merely there to have a
good time.
The typical “IM Sports Guy” is prone to episodes of
boastfulness and irrationality. He will spend hours describing the
intricacies of how he once stuffed Cedric Bozeman on the playground
back in fifth grade, but naturally has no memory of the thousands
of jumpers Bozeman rained down on him in the ensuing years.
“IM Sports Guy” wears his high school state
championship T-shirt to every game only because his plaque and
trophy would be a little too cumbersome to carry around on campus
each day. Just a bench warmer, he still has a shrine to his own
accomplishments mounted above his desk in his dorm room, and would
gladly build a museum if he had the money.
With his $180 basketball shoes laced up and sweatband in place,
he looks every bit the part of an athlete until he steps on the
court. Unfortunately, his game cannot reach the level of the
outfit.
When matched up against capable competition, he cannot mask a
lack of talent. Arrogant scowl permanently etched across his face,
“IM Sports Guy” will take all of the credit in victory,
yet inevitably blames his teammates in defeat.
To make up for his deficiencies on the court, the “IM
Sports Guy” must fuel his ego by challenging woefully
inexperienced opponents. Always the center of attention, his mouth
runs faster than most Olympic sprinters as he dominates against
competition that would make most elementary school coaches
blush.
The average “IM Sports Guy” dreams of putting up 30
points in a game when one of the UCLA basketball team’s
assistant coaches is among the crowd in the bleachers, scouting the
on-campus talent on display that day. He calls Steve Lavin so often
that the secretary knows him by name, and is shocked that he
hasn’t heard back yet.
“IM Sports Guy” swears that if he had just been
recruited coming out of high school, he would have been All-Pac-10
by his sophomore year. He knows he could have locked up Kareem Rush
against Missouri in the NCAA tournament, and probably thinks he
could have scored 25 points as well.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t take a recruiting guru to know
that “IM Sports Guy” is neither fast nor strong enough
to succeed at the collegiate level. Nonetheless, he harbors the
illusion that he could have been the next Jason Kidd if his high
school coaches had just given him the playing time he deserved.
With his bleak delusions of stardom in the blue and gold,
“IM Sports Guy” is one of the most tragic figures on
campus. He is destined to play every week in anonymity, making life
miserable for those around him.