Ok, so y’all remember I told you about a pitcher buddy back at MT who had to have Tommy John surgery…and came back good as new senior year? He was another good ole Tennessee boy. They even named him Jackson lol.
Thing is (I reckon I told y’all this too) that he could get hard to handle when he’d had a few too many. And he had a few too many a lot during the time he was rehabing. Me and Jackson were sharing an apartment with two other ball players (this was the fall of 2014, start of my senior year)… and me and him went out a lot. I’d have a few beers (maybe more than a few), and try to keep my buddy out of trouble. By the time I was 21, I’d started to learn how to prevent fights as well get into them. And I didn’t want Jackson fucking up his pitching arm by throwing punches at jerkoffs who were as drunk as he was.
So we were out drinking on October 1st – I remember real well that it was a Wednesday – and Jackson had gotten himself into a real bad mood after a chick he liked shot him down. She was a 7, maybe an 8 if you had as much to drink as Jackson, and blond and kinda curvy the way y’all know I like ‘em. Honestly, I didn’t blame her for shooting him down: the last thing a chick wants is to hang out with a dude who’s drunk and sullen.
He knows I’m his buddy (and that I could probably kick his ass), so he wasn’t really fixin to start a fight with me that night, but he did start in on me. Better that I guess than having to get him out of trouble.
So what does he start in on about? How I got “game” – whatever the heck “game” is. And how I didn’t understand what it felt like to be shot down by a chick you liked.
It’s not my favorite subject. Especially because I don’t really understand it. I don’t know what “game” is, and I don’t do anything to have it.
Ok, look, I’m not stupid and I’ve got a mirror at home and I know chicks like to talk to me because of my looks. But that’s not game. Unless a good haircut is game.
I know tons of dudes who think that, once they’ve got a chick to notice them, they have to deceive them. I guess that’s “game” – and I promise you I don’t do that. As far as I can tell, the only “game” I got is being myself. Maybe my “secret” is that chicks expect a dude who looks like me is gonna be a stuckup jerkoff. Which I’m not. So I reckon chicks see that I’m a nice guy and…I’m pretty much set. But that’s just being me. No “game” involved.
So I tried explaining that to Jackson for like the hundredth time, and told him that he should forget about game and just be himself. If he laid off the drinking and trusted himself, he’d probably have no problems getting laid.
“Easy for you to say. You probably think you could get any chick in the bar.”
Ok, I was on my second pitcher of beer and probably getting a little stupid myself.
So I told him I probably could.
“Wanna bet on that, pretty boy?”
Y’all know what I think about getting called pretty boy. And y’all may also have noticed that I don’t back down from bets. (I also tend to win ‘em lol.)
“You pick the chick and we see if I can land her?”
“Too easy, man.”
He didn’t have to think about it long.
“Ok man. I’ll bet you any Nokona glove you want that you can’t bang 30 chicks in 30 days.”
A Nokona is one hell of a glove…and they go for around $350. (Most of my gloves were Rawlings since I got good enough to deserve a good glove. But you do look at pictures of the Nokonas online and think how cool it would be to have one. Ok, so they’re kind of like the Patek Philippe of gloves lol.)
I reckoned Jackson wasn’t serious.
Only he was.
And I sure as hell wasn’t going to back down. Besides, having a Nokona would be awesome. So I took the bet.
Now all I had to do was have sex with 30 chicks by Halloween.