Grown Men Should Not Play Recreational Sports

The above statement is something that I think to myself every time my husband enrolls himself in some kind of  "rec." sport.  I stand by this statement because I know at some point during the "season" my husband will be injured.  This injury will affect our daily routine immensely but will not, however, stop him from continuing to play said sport.  The injury will worsen, his groaning will intensify, and my patience will wear thinner than ever.

So it is no surprise that my last words to my husband as he exited the apartment on the way to his game last night were not "good luck," or even "I love you."  With every game or practice, the final words I called out to him on his way out the door are always, "don't get hurt."  If only he'd listened last night, he wouldn't look like this tonight:

The problem is not the sport itself.  It isn't the individual men either.  It's the mis-firing of electrical current that occurs in a man's brain when he is surrounded by other guys and his wife is not around.  For some reason when you get a group of men together to play a sport that they think they are good at, they think it's important to show off.  In other words, my husband thinks it is necessary to physically push the limitations of his rapidly aging body to impress the other men on the team.  Some call this an Ego.  I call it Stupid.

Too harsh?  Maybe.  Don't get me wrong.  I found this softball team for my husband to join.  I picked out his new glove and cleats.  I understand and completely support my husband's need for male companionship.  Just as he understands and completely supports my need to drink wine every day.  But I am frustrated by the fact that he couldn't follow one simple direction: don't get hurt.  So tonight as I bring my husband more Ibuprofen and a heating pad, I can't help but think to myself that grown men should not play recreational sports.  At least not without the supervision and guidance of their wives.