In Defense of Sports - Pee Edition

I was asked to tell a story at a show, aptly titled In Defense of Sports. I am a sports fan, so I figured I could do something. Also, as it was people I like as funny people doing it, I was honored to be asked. And I was also a little confused. Not because there would be a bunch of Chicago Jack-offs up there. That can be insufferable. But the show is called In Defense of Sports. It’s hard to defend it a lot. Even the show promo card had the D and the picket fence – I can’t defend that. You see guys holding that up at a game and you know they are morons. Then there are the balls - sports balls, and right there in your face is the big soccer ball. Soccer? I went to a party in NYC a million years ago. A rave, people on ecstasy, I got a Schooly D record. Say I made a habit of that shit and I could have gone to one and smoked some weed that was dusted. I find myself on a chair, with Pele and Beckham on my lap, they’re naked, tonguing each other, Beckham’s giving Pele a hand job, and the chick who took her shirt off in the Olympics comes over and starts licking my left nipple, - I still wouldn’t give a fuck about Soccer. I’d watch. But fuck soccer. But that would never happen to me. It happens to them I am sure, but not with me and sports stars because no one ends up being in the same place as a sports star without paying. They don’t live in our world. I have never seen Joe Mauer at Home Depot; I have never run into Kevin Love at Rainbow. Never saw Kevin Garnett at Southdale. They have people like us do that stuff for them. Unless you’re a hot blonde, it is accidental. I was in a BK drive through and looked in the rear view to see in a gold Benz behind me – ML Carr. But he was retired, and it’s not the same. I have run into TV and movie people. I did meet and talk to Bruce Springsteen at a gig I did. Nice guy, short. Cool 64 Impala. I hate his music, but that was cool. But even he knows he’s no Thurman Munson. So here’s my special Sports story. It’s a boxing story. And it involves me, and not a star, but the reigning champ - and both of our dicks. I took a leak with Marvelous Marvin Hagler. It was in a hotel men’s room, not unlike the one at the BLB where the show was, but not nauseatingly filthy. It had three pissers. A guy was at one end, so I took the other, leaving the appropriate empty one between us. And he walks in – bald, and wearing sunglasses – and takes a leak right next to me. I know what you’re thinking, and NO – I did not look at his cock. Sure I wanted to. I pictured it then as now – massive, dark caramel colored shaft, purplish tinged mushroom head. All the while his forceful stream made the porcelain chime. I wanted to look but I got hold of my thoughts – He’s a boxer. A good one too. He beats the living shit out of people for a living. I just knew if I looked… It’s a sure bet I’d see he was pissing BLOOD. That would make me fucking sick. Blood out your ass? Fine: everyone has that. But, out your dick? Jesus, I would’ve keeled over. We did our biz, and the fucked up thing is a month or so later I’m walking down Boylston St, and who’s coming right at me in a Root Beer colored three-piece suit with a tall hot piece of action in an ankle length fur? SUGAR RAY LEONARD. That’s two champs in the flesh within weeks – didn’t cost me a fucking dime. No, I didn’t piss with him, so I can only imagine his mammoth prick, and bloody urine. They say these things come in threes, so its possible I played slots with Buster Douglas at Ho-Chunk and missed it. But still – two champs that I could’ve literally stuck out my hand and stabbed. So I keep it here in my heart – for a brief moment in time my cock did a synchronized whiz with Marvelous Marvin Hagler. And the other guy who probably remembers me as I do him – some asshole.