Ya know what I can’t stand anymore? It’s the continuous and unrelenting apologies you get from the guy across the ping pong table from you who hits one on the net that dribbles over, or hits the ball on the edge of the table resulting in an unreturnable ball. Now these apologies have got to be some of the phoniest exclamations of sorrow and remorse that have ever been uttered in sports. It’s totally lacking in sincerity. As a matter of fact, it’s an absolute false expression describing what the guy really feels. It’s pure, one hundred percent crapola, is what it is. And it’s chock full of deceit, too – the guy is pretending. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, the guy says, and nearly stops the game to go to confession (Father, forgive me, I made my opponent sad). Yeah? Well, Bunky, you’re makin’ me puke.
Listen, you and I both know that when you hit a lucky shot and win the point, you’re feeling pretty good. Maybe jubilant! Maybe ecstatic! An honest guy would be jumping up and down with unrestrained delight, not offering up some bogus forgive me. I’m sick of it. We have to do something about it.
Me? I no longer partake in this fraudulent, teary-eyed charade. It’s not like I’m giving the opposing player the finger, either, I just don’t say anything. And the heck with him if he’s so intent on hearing the automatic and ludicrous mi scusi. But if he’s waiting for that reflex apology or some defensive hand gesture on my part indicating an equally phony regretfulness and sympathy, it goads me into taking the offense. I look straight back at this bereaved, grief-stricken wussy – this apology seeker – and I spit back Oh! Too Bad! Or, if I’m really not enamored with the guy to begin with, I’ll say something like Tough Nuggies! or, Tough Titties. Or, if I harbor genuine resentment (the guy just took my parking space) and ill-will (my car was there first), I’ll go a little further and say something I cannot address on these pages (but I’ll only say it if I took recent karate lessons).
Ya know what? I go along with George Castanza (Seinfeld). He may have been an idiot, but he was honest (he was an honest idiot most of the time). He said what he felt. He would feel absolutely no remorse for making a lucky ping pong shot that his adversary could not return (after all, he felt not a twinge of sadness when his fiancée died of envelope glue poisoning). In one episode, when someone sneezed, he said “Ah, shut up!” And this is what he’d say in the situation whereby he just made a lucky shot: It’s nothing – whatta ya getting so upset about?
Right on, George. C’mon, there’s enough phoniness and banality in the world already. We don’t have to add to it. Lao Du