I hate sports. Anything that forces me to use any sort of coordination or athleticism brings back terrifying memories. I couldn’t even summersault when I was in primary school. To avoid having to, I told everyone the gym teacher made us do it because he was some sort of pedophile. Unfortunately, this strategy couldn’t work on my dad, who forced me to start playing soccer when I was five. For eight years. Urgh. My highlight was when it was raining and I heard those magic words “Looks like you won’t be playing today” and I could go back to playing video games and ignoring other children. In the eight years I had to play soccer, I never got past my fear of the ball when it was moving. Thing was like the size of my head. So for eight years I ran up and down the field like a puppy chasing people but never actually doing anything. Other parents must have been so confused. Anyway the point is sport sucks. One of the highlights of growing up is there’s less potential for balls to come flying at your face. I guess that really depends on the person though.