Plan B: Lacrosse Camp
If you haven’t found your athletic calling in a real sport, why not try lacrosse? Despite its Native American origins, “lax” now more closely resembles the bastard protestant son of hockey, soccer, football, tennis and jai alai. Lacrosse, much like skiing, revolves not so much around the raw talent of the athlete as in football or soccer, but around the number of camps and summer leagues you can cram into your summer, as well as your proximity to Darien, Connecticut. Lacrosse is the identity crisis of the American WASP laid out bare on a grass field, combining elements of bravery (getting bashed with a metal stick while trying to run), cowardice and formal attire (it’s okay to suit up in your seersucker shorts after the game and a good dip sesh’), equipment confusion (how many fucking pads am I supposed to wear? Less than hockey, but more than football?), purely arbitrary inventiveness (running around while “cradling” a ball in a modified tennis racket attached to a pole), and ample chest-beating, all while letting you hang out with wealthier sluts than the football and basketball crowd.
All they're missing are some cool lanyards.
