Yelling as a man’s mode of control


I think it’s only fair, with Valentine’s Day just around the corner, that I divulge a secret that will help women better understand men.

I feel I am qualified to give this sort of information on the basis that I have been a male for well over 20 years. Or at least as far back as I can remember.

But at any rate, as a male, I’ve had the opportunity to sit with other males and observe their behavior in male-like settings doing male-like activities with male-like smells.

And the epiphany I had is so astonishing that if it doesn’t help all of you ladies out there better understand us men, then I will personally eat an entire pizza in one sitting by myself.

(In fact, now I hope this doesn’t help any of you. But I’m getting carried away. And hungry.)

After years of researching, I have come to this conclusion: Men think they can control the outcome of events far outside of their own capabilities merely by yelling at these events.

I like to call this “Directional Dysfunction.”

I think this condition starts when males are given a toy truck as a child. (The males are child­ren, I mean. The age of the toy truck carries little significance in this case.)

Give any young boy you know a Tonka trunk and send him out to the sandbox, and I bet you $10 that within three minutes his hair and his underpants will be filled with sand.

Not that this applies.

I will also guarantee that this boy will begin pushing the Tonka truck around while making a loud, saliva-generated “BRRRRRRRRRRRRRM” noise. (Quantity of R’s may vary depending on color, size and brand of toy truck.)

It is at this moment that the juvenile brain is realizing that, “Hey! This inanimate object moves when I make loud, obnoxious and sometimes spitty noises.”

But as males mature, their minds turn from toy trucks to—you guessed it—athletics.

Anyway: As an adult, the male mind transfers the Tonka truck technique to the realm of sports.

For example, take last week’s college basketball game in which the Kansas State Wildcats pulled a Wile E. Coyote on the Kansas University Road Runners.

I happened to be with a group of widely-varying men for this. Throughout the KU/K-State game, these guys were telling the players, referees and coaches what they did wrong, what they could have done better and what they should have done instead.

They were telling the players what their next move should be as they dribbled down the court, and they were providing their own commentary during the commercial breaks.

(Right now, my dad is thinking, “Wow, I really did have a lot of toy trucks as a child.”)

And all of these men, despite age, family status or religious background, became very animated when what’s-his-face did that thing to the other guy and the referee called a whadyacallit.

Remember that part? If you’re nodding vigorously, you are a male and you were yelling at the television screen.

This happened on a much more local level several weeks ago at a Hillsboro High School girls’ basketball game.

The time was dwindling and the scores were getting close when the man behind me started talking to himself: “All right, girls, I’m gonna have to coach you through this.”

He then proceeded to instruct the girls through the entire play, as if what he was saying actually had impact on the game’s outcome.

I sort of wanted to turn around afterward and say, “Wow, are you available for kid’s parties?” But when it comes to sports, I get myself in enough trouble the way it is.

But let’s get back to my original topic: How does this help all you women readers?

This Valentine’s Day, when your significant other is showing signs that he is planning to sit on the couch and watch ESPN all night instead of having a romantic, candle-lit-dinner-for-two with you, all you have to do is this:

Slink up behind him and lean way in until your lips are barely touching his ear. Then, with as much passion as you can muster, go, “BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRM!”

Instinctively, he will respond by doing whatever you want; he has no choice. His brained was wired that way as a child.

So enjoy that romantic dinner. And to set the mood, I suggest that old Elvis classic “Tonka Tonka Burning Love.”


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