Aha! That caught your attention, didn’t it?
Sadly, this isn’t Heather B Costa’s attempt at a Public Service Announcement, encouraging all men out there to check their balls for testicular cancer. Although while we’re on the subject, I would thoroughly recommend that all men either check themselves or ask their wife/friend/next door neighbour to cop a feel and make sure that everything is hunky-dory down there.
Joking aside, testicular cancer is a killer, but it is also one of the most treatable forms of cancer there is. Next time you check your balls, think of Heather B Costa – it might just save your life.
Despite what some of you may think, I don’t actually have balls on the brain – although that does sound like quite a tricky medical condition….
It’s summer here in the UK and when the sun shines it means only one thing:
We get our balls out and play with them. Big, small, hard, and soft – we love them all.
It’s not just the size and the firmness, it’s also the shape of our balls and what we make them do when the sun shines. Here in Blighty, we LOVE our balls.
Ok, so we may not be quite as proficient in our ball skills as some other nations, but we’re nothing if not triers. What we lack in talent and ball-handling skill, we make up for in pluck and determination. Because of our inclement weather, we might not be able to practice playing with our balls as much as some other countries, but that doesn’t mean we love our balls any less.
Playing with our balls is something that usually starts in the school playground where we develop a taste for a certain size or shape of ball, some are leathery and hard while others are small and furry. No matter the size or shape, it is our fascination with our balls that carries us from childhood, adolescence and into adulthood. Perhaps the only thing that changes is the fact that our balls tend to get smaller as we get older.
We love our balls here – especially in the summer. When the sun shines, we all venture outdoors with our balls in an effort to show everyone around us how skilful we are at manipulating them to our own ends.
In the months of June and July you can barely switch channels without finding someone playing with their balls. The World Cup, Rugby tours, Wimbledon, the US Open Golf – honestly, it’s like wall to wall balls on your TV screen!
It just so happens that we Brits might not be very good at some sports, but God loves a trier and especially one that gives their balls their all. England will likely be knocked out of the World Cup at the group stage, Andy Murray won’t get past the quarter finals of Wimbledon, and all three home rugby nations will return from their southern hemisphere tours bloodied, bruised and defeated.
But who cares?
It’s not the winning that counts…..at least that’s what we tell ourselves when we grab our balls in a fit of pique and storm off home.