TEAM LAST CALL

I was stunned. I mean, I had literally no idea that I was gay, so to find out so suddenly was a real surprise. That’s a really big thing to just have dumped on you out of the blue.

I learned about my new sexual orientation during a recent run-in with a gang of middle-schoolers who were kind enough to inform me, in loud voices from across a parking lot, that I was, in fact, a major-league, card-carrying homosexual. I’m paraphrasing here.

I couldn’t believe it! I was shocked. Evidently, I had spent the first 28 years of my life wandering aimlessly in a heterosexual fog. To think, all this time I’ve been playing for the wrong team! I obviously owe those boys a huge debt of gratitude for shedding some light on the issue. I mean, who knows how many more years I might have squandered on the opposite sex if those boys hadn’t taken the time to enlighten me to the fact that I was a raging homosexual?

Oh, man, this was big. So much to digest at one time! I mean, you think you know yourself, but all it takes is a group of perceptive 12-year-olds in Marilyn Manson T-shirts, black fingernail polish and eyeliner to shatter all of the lies you’ve been feeding yourself over the years.

How was I going to break it to my wife? “Honey, I’ve got some bad news. Apparently, I’m a flaming homosexual. Sorry.”

“A homosexual? Oh heavens, that is bad news.”

“I know, I know. … Hey, let’s go dancing!”

“Finally!”

What bothered me even more than my surprise sexual orientation was the fact that there was something so extraordinarily gay about me that you could spot it from 100 yards away. What tipped those kids off? Was it my haircut? Was it the way I walked? Was it my Frankie Goes to Hollywood T-shirt? It was a complete mystery.

Telling my buddies was going to be tough. Not that I’m friends with a bunch of homophobes, but I wasn’t sure how they would react to this kind of news, especially coming from someone who just last week was crowned the King of Beef Jerky. Not that that makes me particularly masculine, but I’m willing to bet that not too many of my fellow homosexuals know their way around a bag of Uncle Farty’s Dried Cow Strips like I do. Anyhow, I knew I had to break the news to my friends gently. Maybe I could work it into the conversation during our next big video game tournament.

“Oh, sick! My guy just got his legs blown off by a bazooka! But not before I blasted Keith’s guy in the face with a shotgun! Ha ha, that was awesome! By the way, I’m really, really gay.”

Or maybe it would be better to drop some subtle hints first so it’s not such a shock, like during our next poker night.

Barry: “I’m in for five bucks.”

Dave: “I’ll see your five and raise it ten!”

Me: “I’m gay.”

Barry: “What?”

Me: “I said, ‘I’ll stay.’”

Barry: “… OK. Well, let’s see your cards. I’ve got three of a kind.

Dave: “I’ve got a pair.”

Me: “Ha ha, I’ve got a royal flush! Plus, I really am totally gay.”

I was nervous, though. Not just about telling my friends, but about being gay in general. Did I have what it takes to make a good gay man? What kinds of changes would I have to make to my life?

Did this mean no more peeking at the JC Penney’s lingerie catalog when my wife was out of the room? What about walking around in my underwear and playing air guitar to Springsteen? And oh my gosh, what about Krispy Kremes? Are those gay?

I knew I had one strike against me, which was that I wasn’t attracted to other men. But I wasn’t about to let that get in my way. I mean, if I’d managed to survive 28 years of heterosexuality without such basic assets as “self-confidence” or “biceps,” then surely I could survive this one little setback to my newfound orientation.

There was still one more thing about the whole situation that bothered me, though, and that was the fact that, you know, I’m not gay. Unless you count my Justin Timberlake CD.

Now, let me clarify that I’ve got nothing against people who do happen to be gay, unless those people also happen to drive Hummers, in which case they should be trampled by elephants. Of course, that’s more of a statement about Hummers than anything else; homosexual or not, if you drive a Hummer, nobody likes you. I really can’t stress that enough.

But Hummers aside, I certainly have no problem with people whose sexual orientations are different than mine. Or the same as mine, depending on whether you’re talking to that group of middle-school kids or not.
Please understand that the last thing I want to do is make those kids look foolish. They were just trying to help. When’s the last time you helped a stranger? No, I don’t blame them one bit for their little miscalculation. There are a lot worse things in the world to be wrong about. Like weapons of mass destruction. For example.

All in all, it was a very confusing phase of life for me, a phase I now affectionately refer to as “that afternoon when I was gay.” But I’m pleased to report that the waters have calmed, and I’m back to my old, jerky-eating, dirty socks-wearing, flatulence-lighting ways. God bless America.