Sometimes Women and Sport Don’t Mix

As soon as I answered the phone, her question went something like this, “So I was just another one of your mistresses too?

She had just finished reading one of my blogs, A Year Later Continued, and the incident I described on the football field resonated strongly with her because there was a similar one that occurred a few years prior to that. That incident did involve her, but the one in that post did not. I wasn’t surprised by the question, but the truth was, they were two entirely separate incidents that mirrored each other. I can’ t even say they were isolated because they both involved me and my womanizing ass ways. 

Even then, she wasn’t my mistress, she was my ex-girlfriend, however we remained physically and emotionally close after my affair effectively ended our relationship.

What happened that day isn’t entirely clear, and I’ve resigned myself to the idea that it may never be. But, by the time it was over, our flag-football team had placed 3rd in the 2006 Chicago Gay Games. We won the bronze medal, but I missed the team photograph on the field, and the celebration that followed because immediately after winning, I  high-tailed it to the sidelines, where an angry ex-girlfriend was waiting, staring me down. She held my cell phone in one hand, and a tiny balled up fist in the other.

I jogged over to where she was standing. I was furious too. She’d been pacing at one end of the side line ever since halftime started, talking on the phone. I didn’t know it yet, but she had been talking on my phone as I played ball.

We immediately started arguing, but I moved us as far away from the sidelines as possible. We were standing on the sidewalk by then. She didn’t live very far from the field so I invited her to watch the game, except she hadn’t really been watching at all. 

The late afternoon rain delayed the final women’s games, but by the time we ventured out of the athletic field house, the July air had warmed so much that we were able to resume game play. It was on. After losing the first game against a great team out of Florida, we went on to dominate the next two games, landing ourselves a chance at the bronze medal. I don’t know how I made it through the second half of the game because my mind was not in it. My mind was heavy, thoughts focused on my girlfriend and my mistress. My eyes, however,  focused on my ex who stood at the opposite end of the field chatting away while stealing glares at me in between.

Sometime during the second half  she went through my duffel bag. I was oblivious to everything until the second half. Fans don’t typically cheer from the sidelines at these types of venues, so the fact that she  was standing there was out of the ordinary. I knew something was up.

Later on I learned that she asked my girlfriend to come to her apartment, even provided directions and her phone number for reference. She was fierce then, and she’s fierce now.

I learned that in addition to going through my things, she took it upon herself to give (some) [most] \all/ the women in my contact list a friendly call.  They didn’t argue, fuss or fight either. Scorned women have that way about them when they come together, and the focus is on the same individual. They shared bits and pieces and details of their lives and discussed them in conjunction with mine. Relationships were dissected and my character, obviously, deservedly, ripped the fuck up.

What could I say to all of that? Let me explain to you what I was feeling inside. It went something like, “Oh shit, how the hell am I going to fix all of this?”  I was willing to take the emotional blows, but only because I was still considering my feelings above anyone else’s, making excuses along the way. She called my mistress, too, who was also a gay games participant. She was practicing for the closing ceremonies or else she would have been there that day. I was juggling many women.

And don’t think for a minute that juggling more than the required is some badge of honor, a thing I aimed for just for the “fun” of it. There are no bragging rights that come with multiple women being in love with you. I developed a problem pattern of burying my issues in women. Particularly, fears of abandonment, but I’ll write more about that later.

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