The husband is gone for hours at a time on weekdays? He must have a mistress! Or he just belongs to The Shuffleboard League.
I belong to a secret Men’s Suffleboard League.
Just by disclosing the existence of this league I’m in opposition of Rule No. 1:
Do not talk about The Shuffleboard League.
It’s not really a secret club (yes, it is), but creating the illusion of a secret lends each League Night credibility. Remove this clandestine nature and it becomes just another pathetic excuse for a bunch of married men to get out of their houses on a weeknight. Yeah, I said it: a weeknight! Can you imagine?
(But seriously, if the host of The League finds out that I wrote this you may never see me again.)
My daughter replied, “Well, if you tried to put a shuffleboard table in our dining room then you wouldn’t have a wife either.” To which I replied, “Don’t tempt me, kid.”
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More seriously, it is pathetic indeed. Ten to fifteen married men converge to one single man’s bachelor pad every Thursday or so to throw some table shuffleboard and compete like teenage boys. We drink beer. We talk shop. And we verbally abuse each other.
(We also do other, very secret and important men stuff that moves and shakes our greater society, but you’d have to a member to know all that.)
Here’s the actual scene: A dozen wedded, suburban men surround a twenty-two-foot shuffleboard table in a room that was actually designed for dining. It’s a pretty rabid sight, all of us drinking and drooling over the competition. Did you ever see a picture of a dog-fighting ring with spectators surrounding the blood fest? Well, it’s nothing like that at all.
(It actually looks more like a country club without the bar peanuts on a golden tray. Well, actually, we have peanuts, too. Shit, I think I said too much!)
♦◊♦
Our host for League Night is a thirty-year-old bachelor who should have better things to do than invite a bunch of gassy, middle-aged men into his beautiful home. I suppose he invites us pathetic, receding losers to make himself feel better about his life. The ten married men in The League have a combined 33 children at home. No reason to ask us why we hang out here.
Our host has a big, beautiful setup with little furniture but a gorgeous kegerator. His yard is sprawling with Kentucky bluegrass vacant of kids’ toys. He has a two-car garage with actual space for two cars. The host also has about fifteen other unfurnished rooms throughout his spread that I’m sure he lights up with hours of unscheduled sex on weeknights. Yeah, I said it—weeknight sex! Can you imagine?
There are beautiful, hardwood floors throughout. There’s a spotless stainless steel kitchen with an uncluttered granite counter top. You can actually fucking see it. Don’t ask me the last time I saw my kitchen counter top. I think it was at the Open House before we dove into this mortgage. To think of it, on a normal League Night, the shuffleboard house looks quite like it’s being shown at an Open House. I don’t really go there for the shuffleboard. I go there because there’s nothing on the floor to trip over, not a Lego or a metal car to be found.
(I’d post pictures, but the host doesn’t allow cameras in his house during League Night. In fact, I don’t even know where his house is. We’re picked up by a car service and led in blindfolded. Pink Floyd plays loudly during our entrance to confuse our senses. Shit, I said too much again!)
This isn’t the first shuffleboard league in the world, but it is the best and lives up to its advertisement: “Above the ground and off the wall.” Most people have their shuffleboards in their basements butted up against some dingy cellar paneled wall. Our host has his twenty-two-foot table shuffleboard table smack dab in the middle of (what should otherwise be) his dining room.
When I bragged—I mean, when I told my nine-year-old daughter about this, she said, “What does his wife think of him having a big shuffleboard table in the dining room?” I told my daughter that he didn’t have a wife. My daughter replied, “Well, if you tried to put a shuffleboard table in our dining room then you wouldn’t have a wife either.” To which I replied, “Don’t tempt me, kid.”
(I’d write more about the house, but I really do fear for my life. There is a room there quarantined off with a threatening sign. When I asked out host about this he replied, “That’s where I keep the dead bodies.” I don’t think he was joking. This guy keeps a loaded crossbow on his living room couch. Yes, I said loaded!)
◊♦◊
Back to the actual gathering of bored married men. It’s true that most likely we’d do anything to get out of our houses. But the League does not exist simply for the two hours of freedom from responsibility. There’s also the competition. There’s the booze. There’s the camaraderie. There’s the memory of our youth, and the promise of a future retirement of hanging out at the local VFW or the neighborhood old-man bar.
I anxiously await Shuffleboard League Night and count down the days during my weekday work commute. I daydream about Shuffleboard League Night during lovemaking. I look forward to Shuffleboard League Night with fluttering butterflies in my stomach like a child waiting for Christmas morning. Hanging out with like-minded men playing shuffleboard is my secret men’s society.
(But don’t tell anyone else. It’s classified. Shhh!)
This essay originally appeared on My Pathetic Blog.
Photo by toolmantim
60 years ago, men belonged to various societies not so much because they were bored married men, but because they had an obligation to their families to make connections in the world beyond for it’s benefit. The focus of men has always been to build relationships outside the family with other men in order to create society. The role of women has always to build the family and the internal relationships therein. This directed male energies toward something positive, taught them how to lead and follow, how to get something done in their local communities. But now, this activity is… Read more »
Now I find out. And here I went and joined the Masons. Seriously though, I remember reading an article when i was 30 about how men were missing something our fathers and grandfathers had and how we should form secret clubs to share man-time. That night I asked my father about joining the masons.
Shuffleboard sounds more fun though, and with less memorization. 🙂