All right! Yeah! Go! Go!
Ugh! Come on!
Oh my—damn it! God! Come on, Eighteen!
Oh for the love of—get the damn thing, eighteen!
Agh! Eighteen, you suck! You call yourself an athlete?
I mean, obviously you do, you actually are an athlete. But my god, are you a shitty one! You hear me, Eighteen? You suck! God!
Hey Eighteen! Look, that’s clearly an objective statement but I’m very angry with you right now. Okay? So I stand by my statement that pursuant to my admittedly high expectations of your performance you fucking suuuuuuck right now!
Despite my opinion being contextually inaccurate I feel confident in expecting you to deal with the irrational whims of a large fanbase of which I am a member! So come the fuck on, Eighteen! Live up to the highly debatable financial reward society has deemed you worth!
Yeah, that’s right! I see you as a commodity in the largest area of American culture where that is morally acceptable so earn your fucking paycheck, asshole!
Yeah! Yes! Good play! I am now more rationally understanding that if you were even statistically the worst player in this entire league you would still be better at this sport than I ever could dream of being. My hypocrisy is boundless, Eighteen!
Hey Eighteen! I am so frustrated that I was about to go as far as to say you throw like a girl and now I am angry at myself for considering an archaic concept like that as if we still live in a society where the performance of women is looked at as one of inferior quality to the physical performance of men, and now I’m conscious of the fact that this double standard is unfortunately still true and none of that would have happened if you had just passed the goddamned thing like you should have to the other guy just now!
I’m sorry what I said about the paycheck thing earlier, Eighteen! In retrospect I just remembered the average career span of a professional athlete is between only 3.5 and 5.8 years and you’re probably aware of that, and thus every game you play is not only a physical struggle but a mental one as you consider the disposability society places on you, often with no backup plan in the face of any accident or unforeseen circum—oh my god WHAT? I am TRYING to have a CONVERSATION here! Oh, geez okay, fine! Let me sit back down so I can get up again and do the wave; there, are you good now? Can I go back to talking to my associate down there, please? Thaaaaaanks.
Eighteen, sorry about that, that was just some guy! I figured that the conversation might have sort of been over anyway but I didn’t want to be rude! Now I’ve very worried this is awkward!
Look, I’m gonna go get a soda, okay? Be better at sports!