Kabaddi

Why did I not even know this sport existed until now?

Large numbers of jaw-droppingly gorgeous dark men with thick heads of magnificent black hair and perfect bodies rolling around on the floor in small clothing? And I only just found out about it? It’s like some cosmic force reached back in time into my college-age hormone-addled brain and created a sport out of whatever it found in there.

Seriously. If this sport were even vaguely known in the United States, every single American woman would be following it obsessively:

I suppose I should pick a team, but I honestly can’t. They’re all making my ovaries explode. I’m just happy to watch a bunch of bare-legged Greek gods with magnificent hair and butts tumbling around like a den of kittens. (Okay, really big kittens. That know judo.) I’ll see if I can pick a team, but I make no promises.

Oh! There’s women’s kabaddi, too! I love their names: Storm Queens, Ice Divas, and Fire Birds. I need to watch that for the actual sport of it and to figure out the rules. (When I watch the men’s game, my processor just overclocks and then bluescreens.) The rules appear to be a sort of bizarre combination of tag, forcefield, and mixed martial arts. They’re all sort of dancing (very decoratively) around one another and suddenly two milliseconds later, sixteen guys are all piling on one attempting to dislocate any available ball-and-socket joints.

But damn, do they look pretty while they’re doing it.

So this is nice, and here‘s the year’s schedule.

And I’ve just started a spreadsheet on the current season. Why am I doing this?