Men do not admit vulnerability. Which is very irritating. There you have your opponent on the ground, with one of his arms pinned at an unnatural angle, and because he struggles so, inadvertently the ulna snaps. And, because it is a friendly match, perhaps engaged upon after several beers and pizza, he refuses to express either agony or defeat.
"Oh, pish-posh" he will say, "this happens all the time."
And you should think nothing of it.
Or any less of him.
Wuss.
Women, on the other hand, are liable to whack you over the head with a frypan if you did that.
Despite having to use another arm.
I realize that I am somewhat deficient in the societal indoctrination department. Not only would I probably express mild fury at the very least upon the snapping of an ulna (either arm), but I would probably seek to get to an emergency room before bashing someone's brains in with a frypan. Question of priorities. And careful planning.
On the other hand, being a very temperate sort, it is exceptionally unlikely that I would have consumed enough beer or pizza for the event described above to ever occur.
Although, if I were to pass a wrestling match between two drunken fratboys or graduates of a Marketing program on the street, such as one in which ulna might be snapped, there is a fairly decent chance I'd stop to observe, at a safe distance.
Which is the closest I'll come to watching sports.
No matter how much pizza is available.
The city should be very peaceful this coming Sunday afternoon. Men all over town will be absorbed in the game. I'll be back in the city by tea-time, and I'm looking forward to empty streets and quietness.
I will not be swilling beer or snarfing pizza.
Did I mention tea-time?
It will be a marvelous opportunity for a long walk, I should think, and perhaps a bite to eat somewhere. No one around. Timeless. Almost conducive to company, except for one crucial detail.
Still, it's a lovely hypotheticality.
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