If we are talking about watching sports, either live or on television this isnt worth considering.
If we are talking the kind of sports my aging and increasingly sedentary body can handle, it is equally ludicrous.
But if I can be forgiven a little poetic license, and go back to my youth, there were the magic moments, the sweet spots in time.
A fastball low in my wheelhouse and the bat as quick as a rising trout and the solid, effortless chunk that said I'd caught every atom of it....blocking the plate on a runner trying to score from second and fielding a clothesline one-hopper from right to end an inning....steaming up on a receiver, arriving in a bad mood with the full visceral contact that we could both feel in our teeth.....two steps up on the corner, the ball descending dead on target, and nothing but end-zone in front of me.
It may not have been better than sex, but damn, some days it was close.
