You could feel it as you entered the building. You could smell it, it permeated the air and imbued the arena with it’s power. The ‘it’ in question was testosterone, and lots of it. I was at the ice rink with my brother-in-law to watch my niece play hockey, and operate the clock for the score and penalties.
Now it could have been just sweat I smelled, but the feeling I encountered was more than just from the aroma, it was oozing from all those men, women and children milling about in the lobby and public areas of the Community Complex. You could see it in the body language of those congregating and moving about, and hear it in the snippets of conversation I could overhear. It was, in a word, ubiquitous (I love that word).
I would expect to see it in many athletic and macho men, and some not so athletic nor macho, but I was also surprised to observe similar characteristics from some of the women and children. The aura and feeling of warrior was everywhere. Frankly it concerned me, maybe scared me.
Now I’m not against hockey or any sport in general, but I’m not particularly supportive of some of the characteristics of that particular sport. The fighting and hard hitting, the aggression and macho bullshit I could personally do without but if that’s what floats your boat then go for it. What I don’t really get is the carryover aggression that seems to continue after the games. Even some of the women and kids did not appear to be immune to this drug. Their strutting and posturing was obvious to me as well.
To me, in a nutshell, this is scary. To see this cloak of power exhibited in this way, then (hopefully) dispensed with once they left for home made a statement to me. It told me we are not far from our caveman roots. It told me that all of us are capable of being somewhat duplicitous. We can change our spots at will, put on a front for each occasion, act whatever part was required. The part that concerns me the most is that the ‘real’ us is one that carries this testosterone openly and it’s control is always just below the surface, ready to erupt.
I hope I’m wrong, I doubt I am. Testosterone, the breakfast of champions.