Growing up, I always hated meeting adults. The average adult has absolutely no idea how to speak to a child, so when forced into interaction with a human being who has yet to hit puberty (or is in the thick of it), most adults' brains tend to short circuit as they take stock of the situation.
In my case, they would look at me, see I was a boy, and make a statistically probable (but incorrect) calculation, “This child is a boy. He must play sports.” Then, they would inevitably ask the dreaded question, "What sports do you play?”
I never had an answer to that question. I would blather about having once played soccer at the age of five, but I tended to have my eye on the clouds, not the ball.
Dreaming a dream sans the Stanley Cup
You see, I never really played sports growing up. My parents would sign me up for the odd sport here and there, but they never stuck. I have two hypotheses for why that was the case.
My older brother, Ben, was an avid hockey player who played multiple times a week — and I was dragged to every. Single. Game. I spent so much time being held hostage in arenas as my brother played hockey that it's a miracle my mother didn’t give birth at center ice. Being dragged to hockey games fostered a deep resentment to hockey sticks and my brother (whom I now love).
Or maybe, I was just too gay for it. We homosexuals (like it or not) are often stereotyped as not liking sports, and my preference for dreaming about Les Misérables rather than winning Game 7 of the Stanley Cup didn’t subvert that narrative.
As I grew older, I got into running. However, by then, the time for playing team sports seemed to have passed.
That is, until I got a text from Owen Martin.
Our fellow Schulich family member asked me to join the school’s inner-tube water polo team. I waved on whether to join (pun majorly intended), but Owen’s persistent nagging eventually won the day, and I became a member of the Court of Apool.
What is water polo, anyway?
For those not in the know, inner-tube water polo involves two teams of five attempting to score on the other team by throwing a ball into the opposing team's net. The catch? You do so while sitting on an inflatable pool tube, the type typically found in a lazy river.
However, let me assure you, there is nothing lazy about the Court of Apool.
Like gladiators battling in the Roman Colosseum, each moment of our 30-minute games feels like a do-or-die battle for the ages. With each goal, I restrain myself from yelling, “Are you not entertained?”
While it took us a few games to get the hang of it, we eventually found our groove, winning the final four games of the fall season.
In November, during Thanksgiving dinner, we each said what we were thankful for. To my own surprise, I said, “Inner-tube water polo.” What do you know, I actually like team sports — and Gladiators? They look best in inner tubes.
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