I do not date eighteen-year-old girls.

I don't date them for two major reasons: 1) I am a hideously-bland-looking twenty-nine year old male with no conversational skills and an awkward shyness that can be easily mistaken as the leer a serial killer. I am also not keenly taken to enjoying so-called walks on long beaches or those short-stemmed roses you can buy at K-Mart for $4.99. Or is it $5.99? I jotted this information down a few years ago when I was having a fight with a then-girlfriend. She was not impressed with my four hour conversation on what it is to be a man in today’s socially-cannibalistic society and why it is important for people to accept other peoples flaws. I am sure she would have been impressed with those flowers though.

I am definitely a guy who walks around his house in whitie-tightie undies and has a messy kitchen. I am not familiar with all the characters on American Idol. Picking out carpet for your poodles outdoor doggy house is more interesting than a conversation with me. I have nothing to offer. 2) Eighteen-year-old girls are immature little twits with gorgeous bodies. They say birds fly because they have no choice in the matter. It doesn’t take a million years of instinct and nature to convince you that the flaps on either side of your body really sucks at picking berries from trees or digging holes. Being a stupid eighteen year old is somewhat similar. Wear tight shirts. Creatively drop four-letter words into conversations with members of the opposite sex and you don’t have to memorize the periodic chart of elements or employ your brain on any matters relating to philosophy. If your boy is causing you stress, lift up your skirt the next time you’re at a party and another boy falls into your lap like the delicious fruits of a gumball machine.

I am unable to have a conversation with an eighteen-year-old girl. We’re too different. I can’t even stand to talk to them online. I was having a conversation the other night with a girl online. She was frustrating me. She told me she had more traumatic experiences in her short life than most people in the entire world have during the coarse of their lives. She said people often come to her for advice because she’s so wise. She says it’s hard relating to other people her age because she’s so vastly more mature than them. She says she doesn’t understand why people don’t ‘get it’. Get what, I ask. “The truths of this world.” I lit a candle and rocked it back and forth over my head. Then I asked if she wasn’t, perchance, eighteen years old.

“Yes.”

I do not date eighteen-year-old girls. They are silly and stupid and very hot and sexually arousing to me, but they are still silly and stupid.

And if an eighteen-year-old girl ever had an equivalent, it would be an eighteen-year-old football player. And that’s pretty much what we have with this guy. He was a good player. I remember watching him last year and soiling my pants because he was so natural at the position. He was one of the reasons why I thought our defense could have improved from last year.

Sure. I can sit here and give excuses and justify why we can do better and why our defense will still be OK. I can do a lot of co-dependant type things.

“I got it from falling down the stairs, officer.”

I am not going to. I’m not going to tell you that this isn’t disappointing. That we had a guy with a lot of natural talent pissing all over my face and the face of everyone in this program because he can’t deal with his own personal sh*t.

I’m sorry Avery. I do not care about your little problems. Or your wife. Or your baby. Or if you hit her in self-defense or if you emasculate yourself every night and put on an apron for her and jig around your apartment singing show tunes. I don’t care if you end up in a gutter tomorrow.

I’m not bitter. I don’t care if 99.999% of the world have similar problems. They aren’t my friends. And you aren’t my friend either. You are just an eighteen-year-old prim Dona who has life figured out and is frustrated that no one else ‘gets you’ man. You’re like the Clint Eastwood character in that one Clint Eastwood movie where no one ‘got him’ and he had to do things on his own. Now you’re on your horse man and you’re riding off into the sunset.

Because every college football program to you is the quintessential gumball waiting to fall down into your hands. That’s why I don’t care about you.

I made a mistake. I took an interest in these guys’ life. Hanging on every story. Secretly waiting to hear how they always do the right thing. The same reason I don’t date girls of their age is the same reason why I really should just ignore all these football players personal drama. What a waste of a grown-mans life.

It hurt the team and I’m pissed off about that.