After missing almost the entire spring season of Jesus Cobra athletic competition due to an excruciating hernia, I was really looking forward to leading my teammates to victory the summer. It was clear that without my stern yet fair coaching, and my gritty-take-no-prisoners style of play on the field, the Cobras just sort of fell apart.
As a tribute to Michael Jackson, I had designed a new uniform( red t-shirt, red shorts, pancake make-up on face, with Thriller-like scars, and one sequin glove for each player, with me sporting the MJ on my shirt to connote captaincy), and proposed a new name for the team—The Billie Jeaners. As we were to play basketball this season, I had been creating a series of creative and devastating plays—incorporating some of the King’s dance moves– for us to execute, and was optimistic that we would, at the very least, make the play-offs.
However, according to Rachelle, there’s been a scheduling error this season that’s going to prohibit me from playing.. For whatever reason, she said that they could only enter into a league that had games on Wednesday night, the same night as I am legally obligated to attend Anger Management Training. As some of you may know, ever since the police were called to a Euchre game I was at a few months ago, I have been court ordered to attend AMT sessions.
Not only did Rachelle go out and sign-up the team, KNOWING I would not be able to play, but she changed the name of the team to Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard, whatever the means. (Who is Julio? Is he the new instructor at her kick boxing class?) Further, I have been replaced on the team by a “friend” of ours named Mark. Mark just happens to be black. Coincidence? I think not.
Even though I have a sterling reputation as a basketball player, serving as a bench warmer on the Lisgar Junior Boys championship basketball team, I still face bigotry and racism wherever I go. Just because Mark is black and considered “athletic”, people immediately assume that he is better than me, which completely ignores all of the intangibles that I bring to the team. For instance, even though I cannot jump and prefer to shoot in the elegant underhand fashion, I do not trim my fingernails during basketball season and am able to subtly scratch my opponents, an infraction that rarely gets called in the casual Rec leagues I dominate.
At any rate, I am very disappointed to be a victim of such blatant discrimination, and am taking the necessary steps to place charges against both the Toronto Recreational Sports League and Rachelle Maynard, for shutting me out of a game I love dearly.
Tonight, my old teammates with a new and stupid name, will play their first game of the season, while I, once again, will attend Anger Management Training. Tonight, led by our teacher Svetlana, we are going on a field trip where we get to participate in a Kettlbell class. Fun. Svetlana, by the way, makes us wear Anger Management Trainee t-shirts whenever we go on a field trip, which is very alienating, as when pedestrians see us they hide behind mailboxes, like they’ve just spotted a bunch of escaped convicts.