Who am I? I’m glad you asked. Now, I’ve never played professional sports in my life. On the contrary, I have a spine made of peanut brittle, and I possess all the athletic ability of Gerald Ford during the brief period he was lying in state. I have also been outraced by various stationary objects, including a lamppost, a small mound of sawdust, and renowned college basketball coach Rick Majerus.
But I have watched. In fact, I have spent more than thirty years carefully observing athletes from afar. I even went so far as to place thousands of cameras and film crews in stadiums across the world so that I might watch athletes via open-circuit television, all at considerable effort and expense on my part. And I’ve been known to order my camera crews to slowly “replay” certain moments in the action so that I may study athletes more closely. From all that intense field research, I have accrued a knowledge of the ins and outs of pro athletics that well surpasses that of at least any twenty-nine-year-old.
And now, I share this vast wealth of knowledge with you, the professional athlete. No doubt you’ve encountered your fair share of coaches during your career, a small number of whom may or may not have made sexual advances toward you. Well, I’m here to be your life coach, taking you through your career from its beginning to its inevitable and heartbreakingly unpreventable conclusion. I’ll give you the crucial skills necessary to succeed on the field, to get paid lots of money for it, and to avoid any number of unwanted sexually transmitted diseases. Ever heard of PID, or pelvic inflammatory disease? Trust me: you don’t want that shit.
Moreover, this book isn’t just for pro athletes. No, it’s for aspiring pro athletes as well — which is to say, the rest of us. Read this book, and you’ll be putting yourself in the shoes of your favorite athlete, or at least a reasonable facsimile of said shoes. It’s a fact: we all like to live vicariously through professional athletes. Why, I often envision myself as former pro volleyball superstar Gabrielle Reece. Then I rub my nipples in a gentle, counterclockwise motion and vigorously masturbate myself to orgasm. Good stuff. With this book, you’ll be able to do the same.
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DID YOU KNOW?
Did you know the first black Major League Baseball player was Jackie Robinson? Seriously? You didn’t know that? Jesus. You should be ashamed of yourself.
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As a pro athlete, you are a man with balls. Sometimes those balls are round. Sometimes they are oblong. And sometimes they are stitched, which is kinda nasty. You are about to become the man we all desire to be or, at least, should desire to be. But you must use your balls wisely, lest they blow up in your face — or worse, someone else’s. At long last, I have come to show you how to use those balls to maximum effect. All for the bargain retail price of $16.99. (Note: Price in Canada may vary!) You’re welcome.
So let’s grab our balls and get ballin’, ballers.
It’s all downhill from here: draft night.
The first step in becoming a professional athlete is to be drafted into the league of your respective sport (unless you play an individual sport, such as tennis or golf). For you, the aspiring pro athlete, draft night is the greatest night of your life, a validation that everything you did in college — excelling on the field, spending a handful of hours in kinesiology class, and getting shitfaced off grape Dimetapp and Everclear outside the Delta Upsilon house — has finally paid off. Tonight is the night you become a pro athlete, the best of the very best. It’s like a debutante ball, only you don’t wear white gloves, and you aren’t raped by your longtime boyfriend, Chad, at the end of the night. Here are some tips to make the night memorable:
GREETING THE COMMISSIONER. This is important. When the commissioner calls your name, do the following: stand up, hug your loved ones, walk slowly to the podium, take your jersey, shake the man’s hand, hold your new jersey aloft, smile for the cameras, and leave. That’s it. Do not hug the commissioner. I can’t stress this point strongly enough. Your commissioner got to the position he’s in by ruthlessly consolidating his power at the expense of friends, loved ones, and Jesus Christ. The man will not hug you back. He barely knows the names of his own children. Don’t fuck with him. Alabama defensive end Eric Curry hugged former NFL commish Paul Tagliabue when his name was called by the Bucs back in 1993. Remember Eric Curry? Of course you don’t. He’s dead. All because of a hug.