I saw a guy out walking today; he was clad head to toe in a compression suit.
Compression suits are all the rage amongst anyone who thinks they look like a superhero when out exercising, or just some dick out walking on a Sunday. Sports stars wear them of course, but then they’re paid to and because they’re all the rage they cost a shitload, which makes them even more sought after. No surprises there.
The idea of a compression suit is nothing new. I’ve known guys who’ve worn wetsuits under their rugby gear and back in the day lycra bike shorts were all the rage, especially for wearing under shorter shorts thus making it visible to anyone who cared to notice, that you were wearing them.
Elite players at the time claimed that bike pants supported the quadriceps and hamstring muscles and thus reduced the chance of injury. I reckoned they stopped your balls from popping out of the short over shorts and that was the real reason them fellas wore them. Still, I had to have some.
My parents were never going to buy me any; in fact they took great delight in purchasing the shortest football shorts they could find and this at a time when long shorts were back in vogue. They weren’t the slash up the side numbers that gay joggers love to wear, but they were fucken close to it.
To this day I can’t imagine where they found such short smugglers but knowing my mother she probably had them custom made. So I took matters into my own hands.
My favourite pair of track pants back then was a pair of the adidas numbers that had stirrups, oh yeah. I loved wearing them despite being oblivious to the fact that they left nothing to the imagination in the meat and two veg department. Although to be fair, my produce department never really blossomed till I was about 20 so girls back then really would’ve had to use their imagination.
Despite my love of them, the need far outweighed the means and so I took to the trackie daks with scissors, thus creating my own pair of thigh warming, ball hugging under shorts. Incidentally Coops had done the same with an old pair of his, so we both looked like a right couple of gay German footballers in our cut off adidas track pants.
We thought they were the shit too. My parents, rather predictably, did not.
They were furious, which I found odd because they hated the stirrup track pants with a passion and often threatened to throw them out if I was caught sneaking them to school to wear instead of my corduroys, again.
Yes, corduroys. Yet another humiliating, spastic garment my sadistic mother made me wear to school so that I could be laughed at even more than I was as the only kid wearing roman sandals...
Their punishment? They took away the short shorts and made me wear only the cut offs which, without the stirrups to stretch them out and down, made the top half of a pair of super tapered adidas track pants tighter than a man’s anus. So much so I could’ve worn nothing to football from the waist down, painted the whole crutch area black and still would’ve revealed less, then I did when wearing the cut offs.
In retaliation I took to my last remaining pair of track pants, of the parachute pant type, and made knee length shorts out of those. They looked fucken ridiculous but thanks to their puffy exterior and warm, fleecy inner lining I had my dignity back, somewhat.
As for the original cut offs I told my parents that someone had stolen them from my bag. They hadn’t of course and I kept them hidden away only to wear on occasions when I longed for the touch of the over locked inner seam against the underside of my scrotum.
Which, if we’re being honest here, is the real reason we fella’s like to wear things like compression suits; it’s the feel of them up against the wife’s retired wedding present that really gets us going and not this bullshit about them aiding recovery. To wit - do we wear them when recovering? No we do not.
Maybe that’s the reason why the walker had such a big smile on his face...
Compression suits are all the rage amongst anyone who thinks they look like a superhero when out exercising, or just some dick out walking on a Sunday. Sports stars wear them of course, but then they’re paid to and because they’re all the rage they cost a shitload, which makes them even more sought after. No surprises there.
The idea of a compression suit is nothing new. I’ve known guys who’ve worn wetsuits under their rugby gear and back in the day lycra bike shorts were all the rage, especially for wearing under shorter shorts thus making it visible to anyone who cared to notice, that you were wearing them.
Elite players at the time claimed that bike pants supported the quadriceps and hamstring muscles and thus reduced the chance of injury. I reckoned they stopped your balls from popping out of the short over shorts and that was the real reason them fellas wore them. Still, I had to have some.
My parents were never going to buy me any; in fact they took great delight in purchasing the shortest football shorts they could find and this at a time when long shorts were back in vogue. They weren’t the slash up the side numbers that gay joggers love to wear, but they were fucken close to it.
To this day I can’t imagine where they found such short smugglers but knowing my mother she probably had them custom made. So I took matters into my own hands.
My favourite pair of track pants back then was a pair of the adidas numbers that had stirrups, oh yeah. I loved wearing them despite being oblivious to the fact that they left nothing to the imagination in the meat and two veg department. Although to be fair, my produce department never really blossomed till I was about 20 so girls back then really would’ve had to use their imagination.
Despite my love of them, the need far outweighed the means and so I took to the trackie daks with scissors, thus creating my own pair of thigh warming, ball hugging under shorts. Incidentally Coops had done the same with an old pair of his, so we both looked like a right couple of gay German footballers in our cut off adidas track pants.
We thought they were the shit too. My parents, rather predictably, did not.
They were furious, which I found odd because they hated the stirrup track pants with a passion and often threatened to throw them out if I was caught sneaking them to school to wear instead of my corduroys, again.
Yes, corduroys. Yet another humiliating, spastic garment my sadistic mother made me wear to school so that I could be laughed at even more than I was as the only kid wearing roman sandals...
Their punishment? They took away the short shorts and made me wear only the cut offs which, without the stirrups to stretch them out and down, made the top half of a pair of super tapered adidas track pants tighter than a man’s anus. So much so I could’ve worn nothing to football from the waist down, painted the whole crutch area black and still would’ve revealed less, then I did when wearing the cut offs.
In retaliation I took to my last remaining pair of track pants, of the parachute pant type, and made knee length shorts out of those. They looked fucken ridiculous but thanks to their puffy exterior and warm, fleecy inner lining I had my dignity back, somewhat.
As for the original cut offs I told my parents that someone had stolen them from my bag. They hadn’t of course and I kept them hidden away only to wear on occasions when I longed for the touch of the over locked inner seam against the underside of my scrotum.
Which, if we’re being honest here, is the real reason we fella’s like to wear things like compression suits; it’s the feel of them up against the wife’s retired wedding present that really gets us going and not this bullshit about them aiding recovery. To wit - do we wear them when recovering? No we do not.
Maybe that’s the reason why the walker had such a big smile on his face...
No comments:
Post a Comment