Carroto Juice
One of the most basic things that binds guys is their love of, and the fear of any harm to, their genitalia. While both sexes have their own private parts, the women privates are more private than the men privates. For men, it is simply a case of a stray cricket ball, or a misguided stone, or a snake hiding in their potty, to bring their very existence in jeopardy. And all men share the pain of the lone guy being hit in his cream and crackers by a leather cricket ball. I once visited a relative of mine who had an 8 year old daughter and a 5 year old son. We(by which I mean me, the family I visited, and their pets) decided to go out for a walk, and unbenownst to me and my uncle(yes he was my uncle), there was an extremely important life or death important event being covered on the telly at that precise moment. That is another way of saying there was a Mallorca versus Roya Spanish League soccer match, which as everybody knows are the most premiere teams in the Spanish league, which in itself is the league-iest of all leagues.

But men can smell sporting events from as far as Pluto, and this was in our own living room. Needless to say, my uncle and me plonked ourselves in front of the telly while the kids and my aunt were getting ready. And as soon as she came out all ready in her Nike joggers, she started telling my uncle off about how insensitive he was to the children and how he could not even help them get ready, and not watch the football match. I have a feeling she wasn’t too happy about her 5 year old running naked yelling ay-phoo-chaieeee all over the apartment either. Well, the little dude was told off too, and he decided to get ready on his own.

Big mistake. The kid got his well, thingie, stuck in his zipper. Ow! As soon as me and my uncle heard his scream, we knew, it was the secret guy scream of hurt directly in the Hamina-Haminas. The kid was crying of course, but you should have seen us. We were two concerned men, not giving two hoots about a screwed up rerun of a soccer game between two unknown clubs of an almost defunct sporting league. There was real concern, real paternal love and caring in our eyes. But most of all, we shared the pain. We slowly, and gingerly eased the offending zip off the kid’s by now public privates, while feeling a pain in our mean bean bags too. My aunt was marveling at us swarming over the kid, lightly joking with him to ease of the pain, getting him a huge chocolate box. For her, it was a minor injury.

Women will never truly understand this. Alas, the unity that men share will never be seen by female eyes. Just as well, at least they let us watch Spanish League.