Tackling the final game: seduction

For my last column, I wanted to tackle the most dangerous game
of all … the female. Even if my editors had let me use the words
“dame,” “broad” or “bird” in a
column (they hadn’t, I’d tried every week), I still
wouldn’t have published most of my theories concerning women
in the event I chose to run for public office in the future.

But still, I can write a comprehensive dating column on my last
day because the connection between sports and dating is totally
obvious. Dating is a competitive, zero-sum game. For every winner
there must be a loser. You think women are your teammates? Nah,
dawg, they’re just playing you for a fool.

Dating is an interesting game. It’s not a fun game like
drunk-Twister or drunk-Pogs, but it’s stressful like
drunk-beat-the-police-breathalyzer.

Like basketball or football, there are rules. But in dating
there are rules and then there are rules, if you get my
meaning.

Except the rules are unwritten. We came close in the 15th
century when Johann Gutenberg developed the first printing press
with moveable type to self-publish his dating manual, “A
Man’s Guide to Guten’ It On!” But after the
distribution deal fell through, he settled for printing the Bible
instead.

Thus, though we now have a manifestation of the divine will,
women remain a mystery.

That is, until fourth-year history and psychology student Chris
Lee lent me the book that, according to him, “every boy must
read.” It’s called “How to Succeed With
Women,” by Ron Louis and David Copeland, and every page is a
gold mine of emeralds stuffed with rubies.

Let me open to a random page just to prove it to you.

Page 192: “Ask a guy when he last took a long, slow, hot
bath. Probably not recently. Ask a woman, however (and we suggest
you do, as part of the seduction), and she’ll probably get
all dreamy-eyed, and tell you all about it. It’s part of her
sensual wiring.”

I’m … I … I mean … wow ““ “sensual
wiring”?

Still, as a sports journalist my job is to remain skeptical. I
needed evidence before I could commit my good name to anything.

To prove their point, the authors compared two hypothetical
males: the “desperately lonely” Bob and the
“master seducer” Bruce. Bruce approaches every woman as
a chance to seduce. He succeeds.

Bob on the other hand is not confident. He is not the master of
his space as Bruce is. Bob fails.

Therefore, the authors’ fictional characters in fictional
situations to support their thesis prove them right. That’s
all the evidence I need.

See, I used to think success with the women involved wearing
floss clothes, driving a ridiculously floss car, rocking a solid
ponytail, and having “med student” somewhere in the
introduction. But according to the book, it’s really about
confidence.

I will now only approach from a position of strength, or at
least put out an air of such. My name will be Chad Masters, analyst
for Goldman Sachs and amateur underwear model. I will get a
Blackberry that will go off every 10 minutes while I’m
conversing with a female. I will sigh and angrily type out loud to
my broker in Stockholm to sell before the London markets close,
then I will apologize and ask, “So … where were
we?”

Yes, women are the most dangerous prey of all, but you know
what? So am I. The Game is full-contact: no elbow pads, no refs.
Ride or die, I say. To quote David Mamet, “Always be
closing.”

And after 21 columns I am closing. Sure, there were some things
I missed, things I could’ve said better, but … you know …
I taught you hockey and teamwork. You taught me how to cry … and
love again. Wait, that was “The Mighty Ducks.”

Now I graduate and move on to the cutting-edge of unemployment.
But we’ll meet again on the other side of the rainbow ““
I promise. Keep on dreaming. Keep on believing. Keep on
dancing.

[email protected] exits stage left in ‘gator boots
with the pimped-out Gucci suit. He’s still fly/hood
rich.