My Sister Owned Me. Again.

This is my sister. Now, some of you are wondering if I'm the milkman's, but I assure you, that's not the case at all.

I belong to the mailman.

While growing up, my sister spent most of her free time emotionally abusing me and going out of her way to exclude me from activities (I spoke of one of these childhood instances here: Sharp Contrasts). I was a sensitive young one, so it couldn't have been hard work for her. She is the middle child and was born without the albinic features that plague my brother and I. Amazingly, being the normal-looking one of our brood only served to make her feel out of place and may be a slight explanation to some of her behavior. In any case, when not upsetting me, she played with her Barbie's and engaged in other girlie type things in which I had zero interest. My lack of interest never stopped me from trying to hang out with her, as I thought she was the greatest thing in the world for being everything that I could never be. Even now, I am constantly seeking her approval. And though we're 11 months apart, I grew up believing we had little in common other than naturally curly hair, left-handedness, and a dislike for onions. But in the last week, my sister has revealed herself to be a helluva lot cooler than I ever could have imagined. And it was today that she punched me in the face with knowledge and opinion... about sports.

When she came in the room earlier, I changed the channel from ESPN to E!. I usually do that because I know that we can both enjoy E! but I am never really sure if she'll be down with the random baseball game that I'm watching. But this time, I changed the channel and she didn't seem to notice. I turned it back. A few minutes later, sparked by my wearing a throwback Tim Brown jersey from his Notre Dame years, my sister put me so far in my place that I fear it'll be months before I find my way out. (her words are in yellow)

"Too bad you can't find a throwback Jerry Rice from... where'd he go?"
"Mississippi Valley State."
"Does Mississippi even have valleys?"
"I don't think so... maybe some gulches though."
"A gulch is a valley, Yoda. I thought you were the smart one."
"..."
"Gulch State sounds awful. Valley is clearly necessary."
"Mississippi has deltas."
"Delta State."
"Deltha O'Neil."
"Delta Burke."
"Is a fatty."

Like me, my sister has a gift (or curse) for the oddly-timed, random comment, so our civil conversations usually follow that obnoxious pattern of give and take that drives people mad.
We spent the next minutes in relative silence. Then she said:

"With all this talk about Tim Brown and how he played on bad teams, why doesn't anyone wonder how he would have fared if he had Steve Young and Joe Montana and those great 49er teams instead? I don't think he would have done nearly as well as Rice. He just wasn't explosive or fast or dangerous enough. With Brown on their teams, Montana would have become another Marino or an Elway that had to wait until the end of his career to win it all. Consistency doesn't win Super Bowls. And if Brown was with the Niners, isn't it nuts to wonder where Rice would have been? Maybe Marino would have won that Super Bowl after all."

My mouth fell open. I stared at her while she prattled on but the remainder of what she said simply failed to register. I couldn't quite wrap my brain around what I was hearing. It had nothing to do with her opinions or the merit of her argument. But it was that MY sister, the girl that flies to Beverly Hills twice a month for a $400 shampoo and haircut from that metrosexual douchebag on Blowout actually contemplated the career of Tim Brown and THEN had opinions about how his presence would impact great offenses and quarterbacks of the past. My sister's always been a pretty good athlete and you can't grow up in my house without knowing a little about sports, so it's not like she's incapable of having these discussions. But in the 6 times that I've actually heard her discuss football, 5 of those conversations dealt with the wealth of great asses that can be found in defensive secondaries. And though she's absolutely correct about the quality of ass in those areas of the field, it doesn't do much for her credibility as a legitimate fan of the game. In any case, I stared at her in such disbelief that she grew uncomfortable and stopped talking.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"B-b-b-because... well, where did you--"
"Oh what I can't have opinions?"
"Well... I didn't mean that, I--"
"Oh you think I read about it in Cosmo, didn't you?"
"But you see I--"
"You have no respect for me unless you're asking me how to wear your hair or how to pick up boys."
"But no" (Actually, but yes) "I didn't m--"

And that's when she teed off on my dumb ass.

"Just because I like to read my Coach catalogs and do my nails while you, Matt, August, and Daddy watch and talk sports doesn't mean that I'm not at least somewhat paying attention to what's going on. What, you don't think I noticed when Tim Brown only collected 200 yards receiving and ONE touchdown last season? Like I didn't know that Ben Roethlisberger actually had a rating of, like, 33 in this huge win over the Jets even though he threw 2 interceptions and totally stunk it up? And I know what you're thinking in that mind of yours.. 'She probably doesn't know who Troy Brown is' [Actually it was Belichick but that's neither here nor there] but you're wrong because I do and it was a shame that the Patriots released him only to sign him again for LESS than a million. He deserves more than that. I couldn't avoid this stuff if I tried, especially with Daddy making us watch the goddamn NFL Network all the time. And here you are, my sister of all people, thinking I can't talk about Tim Brown and have an opinion?? Oh please."
"But--"
"Turn it back to E!"

If I am Kellen Winslow II in this situation, think of my sister as Randy Starks.