Signs You Should Quit Your High School Sports Team

Ahhh, high school sports! The thrill, the chase, the pulsing excitement of the thrilling chase! Or something. Actually, joining a high school sport can seem like a really good idea until high school sports actually start.

Unless you're the team superstar, it's easy to start wondering why you're there and not doing something that doesn't get mud caked in your nostrils and other places too we don't want to talk about right now. The forces of nature may be telling you high school sports are not for you. They may be telling you to rip off that helmet, or whatever ridiculously uncomfortable thing you have to wear, throw it on the ground, declare your freedom, and run home to go pass out in front of the TV like a champ. Here are some signs it's time to throw in the towel—the stinky, sweaty, bacteria-infested towel.

For reasons we don’t have to go into now, your team nickname is Bloody-Facey.

You don’t have equipment, nobody interacts with you, and you don’t have a position. Sounds like you’ve already gotten kicked off the team, unbeknownst to you. Might as well just call it a day.

Injuries resulting from said sport have made it impossible for you to urinate. Certain sport injuries can be expected, but a good rule of thumb is: If You Can’t Pee, It’s Not Meant to Be. Any sport messing with that area of the body should probably be banned anyway.

Your nickname is Who The #$@! Is That?

Your sport is Ferret-legging. Oh, you, the animal lover, joined before Googling what that was, and now you know. Time to stop the nonsense.

Your nickname is The Barfinator.

You keep getting mistaken for the water boy. This is making the REAL water boy feel threatened, and he was your only friend on the team.

Your team captain created a special position just for you. It’s sitting underneath the bench, in silence.

The only reason you’re doing it is to be popular and tough and you’re still not popular or tough, and now you smell like leather and manure.

Hazing starts next week, and you’ve heard it involves pig intestines, somehow. Are you sure you really want to do this? This about the time eating nachos and watching Dr. Phil on your couch after school starts sounding pretty fun.

You need to start saving energy for Comic Con, 2012.

Your nickname is Benedict Arnold.

When you get to practice, people start humming “Creep” by Radiohead. And when you say, “stop it, guys!” They strike up Beck’s “Loser”.

Your own mother went to your game/match/meet whatever, and you caught her cheering for the other team. There is good in this. You can hold it against her forever, and blame all your future issues on this incident.

The smell of your own uniform is making you faint. That stank will stick! So now your sports life and your social life are shot.

Have you ever quit a team? What was it?

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