Toonstack: Sportstack Edition
Hut hut hike!
Hey Team Toonstack,
As the 2022 Winter Olympics come to a close today, I ask the question that’s on all our minds: should cartooning be an Olympic sport? Some people say yes. Some people– most notably the International Olympic Committee– say no. And that’s a shame, because I think I’d look pretty good on a box of Wheaties.
Sports: love ‘em or hate, they’re a (pun-intended) field day for cartoonists. For one, sports metaphors are everywhere, from “touching base” in an email, to asking someone “out of your league” on a date, to “swing and a miss!” when that person turns you down. Then there’s sports movies, providing countless scenes and characters to be parodied (here’s looking at you, Air Bud). And last but not least, it’s way easier drawing a ball than it is hitting/throwing/slam dunking one.
So grab a Gatorade, put on some gym shorts, and cue up your favorite Rocky training montage, as my fellow Toonstack teammates sport their stuff.
-Johnny
As a tall guy, one question I get often is “Hey, do you play basketball?” I don't mind this question so much, although it’s weird when strangers scream it at me on the street. The answer is ‘sure!’ I mean, anyone can play it. Am I good at playing it? No. I’m fine for a tall guy in his late thirties I guess. I can rebound but I can’t shoot. You know, shooting: the only fun part about basketball. I just want to shoot it! I don't care which basket! Why is that such a problem for my teammates?
There's something so satisfying about throwing a ball at a target. Take bowling for instance. There’s a whole sport where it’s just throwing a ball at a target. Have you ever played? The rules are simple: You try to throw a bowling ball at some pins for as long as you can until the people who work there yell “For the last time, you're supposed to roll it, not throw it!” and then kick you out. It's fun!
I did not really “sport” as a kid. Why yes this is the second cartoon I’ve shared with you about Zeno’s paradox, why do you ask? Lest you think my childhood was all philosophical paradoxes, let me tell you I was not a sedentary child – I spent my childhood dancing, chasing my cats around the house, making art, writing tell-all newspapers about my household (mostly cat related), the usual. But you’ll notice these are all indoor activities. I remember when all my friends played soccer in middle school and I begrudgingly joined the school soccer team so I could hang out with them, I opted to play goalie because you got to wear a long sleeve shirt and gloves and I was cold.
Is backpacking a sport? Who knows, but I do it a lot. Mostly in 1-5 months sessions because it’s a sport (?) that is more fun if you’re in shape, and the best way to be in shape for it is to backpack for 1-5 months. Due to a combination of what I’d call reality and cultural programming, it’s easy to think that you should be a constant paragon of deep thoughtfulness while you’re in the great, big, beautiful outdoors, but a lot of time is taken up by indelicately cramming food into your mouth.
Sports Sports Sports? Sports, Sports. Sports! Sports Sports Sports; Sports.
(Pitchers and their crazy wind-ups!)
I’ve always been bad at team sports. In junior high, I tried a few. At my one tennis class, I hit a ball out of the park and thought that was (or should be) that. I do not like a ball that comes back at me again and again. I played exactly one game of softball at which I hit a mean grounder, then rounded the bases. When I got to home plate, triumphant, I was informed that I was automatically “out” because I had missed third base in my excitement. The yelling I’d heard and gloried in hadn’t been “yay, Carolita” but “you idiot, Carolita!” Next, I tried soccer but again mistook yelling for cheering after I found myself wondering why I would be trying to get the ball past so many players blocking my progress to the goal over there when there was an unguarded one right behind me, and promptly kicked the ball right into my own team’s net. After that, no one wanted me on their team, no matter what the sport was.
But I was able to join the New Yorker softball team in 2002 because no one knew my history and there were no try-outs. Not that I thought I was an asset to the team: I was simply in love with Michael Crawford, another cartoonist (and super-cool first baseman, now playing that position in the Hereafter). The coach habitually placed me in left field, and nothing got past me. (I’ve noticed that saying this always makes people laugh). I tried to improve my batting skills by hitting the batting cages at Coney Island on weekends. This was my ruin: from that point on, I could only hit balls coming at me with the regularity of the ball-throwing machines set at “slow,” and the next 5 years went by with me striking out time after time. Then one day I hit a line drive. Next inning, the coach put me in shortstop position against my protestations, and I caught a beautiful pop fly that landed in my mitt like a little kiss.
That was my last game: I decided to retire at the height of my career, in 2015. I’m strictly a cheerleader now.
Also, I am a Mets Fan. It’s my cross to bear.
In fifth grade I tried out for my town’s baseball team. During the tryout, a ground ball took a bad hop, hit me in the eye, and sent me to the emergency room. The good news: I was fine. The bad news: I made the team, and over three seasons, we finished with a record of three wins and forty-eight losses. And with that, I retired from our nation’s pastime at the age of 13.
These days, I enjoy sports as a spectator, and a lot of my drawing is done with a game on in the background. In the summer, I listen to the Yankees on the radio, mostly for the chance to hear John Sterling’s legendary victory call. And during basketball season, I watch almost every Knicks game, because, well, I obviously have an affinity for hopeless losers.
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