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Opinions

 

Beats before cleats: why
music is my sports

 

By Jacey Gibb, Opinions Editor

eing a young male, my
B having a complete disinterest

in sports has always been
somewhat of a handicap. Despite
partaking in a variety of athletics,
the closest I’d say I ever came to
being a sports fan was last year
when I spent two weeks avoiding
human contact and burning
through the entire Friday Night
Lights series. Texas Forever, indeed.

But while I used to see my
inability to talk sports as a defect
or a shortcoming, I recently made
a wonderful personal discovery:
the reason I’m not into sports is
because music is my sports.

As hopelessly trite as that
sounds (realistically, it could
probably pass for something you’d
read on a graphic tee at Bang-On),
I’m being serious.

Instead of spending hundreds
of dollars a year on Canucks
tickets or seats to a Giants game,

a large portion of my recreational
fund gets funneled into attending
concerts. While I would never pay
more than $50 for a show, I have no
problem shelling out half a day’s
worth of pay in exchange for the
chance to see one of my favourite
bands rip it up on stage.

You have a pretty modest
collection of jerseys hanging
in your closet? I can guarantee
that over my lifetime, I’ve had
more band tees than you’ve had
overpriced sports garb.

The main reason | came to this
sports-related realization is because
of how much time I| invest in music.
I can spend hours sitting at my
computer, browsing Bandcamp
and going on a downloading binge,
thirsty for my next favourite artist.
People spend large amounts of time
looking over player stats and stuff
that might as well be Klingon to
my ears, but I usually get a similar
reaction when I try to talk music
with certain folks. Bands that I
thought were decently popular,

or even overplayed, turn out to
be completely unknown to people
outside of my immediate circle.

On the bus I’ve been forced to
listen to half hour conversations
about how this player needs to
work on their endurance or how
this coach is a pig-headed asshole,
but the verbal exchanges have no
deeper meaning to me. I can still
relate though: some of my favourite
conversations have been pointless
babble fests with no direction,
simply talking music talk.

I’ve been on a few sports
teams, so I know that the whole
comradery element can be a
big part in people’s devotion to
athletics. But I can honestly say
that that “connection” is closer to
a dropped call when compared to
the electricity that flows through a
venue during a concert. To stand
alongside hundreds of strangers,
swaying and singing along toa
song that you all simultaneously
know the words to? Sometimes it
can give a guy goosebumps.

While I’ve been singled out
before as being pretentious when
it comes to my playlists, for the
first time the other day, a friend
called me a “music snob.” I hadn't
even been referring to anything
particular at the time, so my natural
impulse was to be defensive and
smack them, but then I realized
that my passion for music could
easily be mistaken by others as an
exercise in arrogance. I don’t mean
to come off as belittling; the beauty
about music, as it is with sports,
is that so much relies on personal
opinion that arguing is almost
arbitrary. That certainly doesn’t
make it any less enjoyable though.

Anyways, my self-discovery
quota for the month has now
officially been reached. To recap
things: for Jacey, music = sports.
You can keep your group showers
and rookie hazing; I'll stick to my
music festivals and pretentious
tendencies.

 

The light at the end of the

By Allie Davison, Staff Writer

ifty online job applications,
Re resume and cover letter

packages, and only one
interview. It’s been a tough few
months.

I’ve been consistently
searching for a job since about
January. But not just any job. |
want a job that I’m qualified for,
thanks to the last two years of
blood /sweat/tears that come
with college. A job that doesn’t
pay minimum wage and that—
ideally—offers benefits. A full-
time, grown-up job.

Please, just hire me.

I’m (almost) never late. I get
my shit done. I don’t complain.
And, despite the tattoos on my
feet and shoulders, I am not one of
those gang kids you read about in
the news.

And don’t think I wasn’t really
really trying. I pursued the job
boards, scoured Craigslist, and

hassled loved ones for connections.

I was all over it, and yet nothing
came of any of it.

And so, depression set it. The
lying in bed till the last possible
moment. The craving (and
occasionally succumbing to) to
day drinking. I went to work at
my hated hotel job and I started
to envision the place burning to
the ground, with me manically
laughing in the background. And

 

job hunting tunnel

then, my boss (the only reason |
ever stayed at the hotel this long)
quit.

I took it as a sign that I needed
to get out of that hellhole.

So, I began a new kind of
job hunt—the search for any job
that will pay me equal or greater
dollars then I make now. I searched
for any customer service jobs that I
am vaguely qualified—sometimes
throwing in the writing experience
on resume, but often not. I was
past caring because at this point,
anything will do. Another 50 or so
resumes and matching cover letters
went out and still nothing.

Until one fateful day, I get an
email requesting an interview!
Huzzah!

As of now, the interview
has taken place. And although,
originally, it looked like another
simple front desk position at a
hotel, it has now turned into more.
As well as front desk duties, there
are opportunities to use my skills
as a writer and designer within
their organization.

So, my advice to those also
seeking employment? Don’t
give up. Even when the despair
and day-drinking set in, there is
still hope. To quote a line from
the recent movie, The Best Exotic
Marigold Hotel, “Everything will
be alright in the end. So, if it’s not
alright, can’t be the end.”