Obviously, there are no differences between men and women because gender is a social construct and time is an illusion and we’re all just lizards, but also, men and women are different.
When I’m playing tennis with a man, he will, occasionally, give me some unsolicited coaching, even though he himself is not a coach or necessarily a better player.
Bloke: Our opponent will serve out wide because he’s left-handed and lefties always serve out wide.
Me: Oh, that’s funny because he literally just served down the T.
Another bloke: You’ll need sunglasses on that side of the court because the sun has come out.
Me: Sorry, do you believe that at the age of 34, I lack the ability to recognise the importance of wearing sunglasses when confronted with intense outdoor brightness?
Yes, you have a penis, but not a brain or any social skills, so kindly shut your pie hole.
Just to balance this out: some of the guys I play with are bloody lovely and have never mansplained or given me shite coaching.
Plus, some of the women I’ve played with have given me shite coaching and patronised the hell out of me – but thanks to endless therapy sessions, their words now ping right off my Shit Shield and I just walk away laughing to myself.
To illustrate the differences between men and women on a tennis court further, allow me to give you some examples:
Example 1:Â
There’s a squabble about whether a serve was in or out:
Men: Shout “WTF mate, that was out!”. They may call each other names, shove each other a bit when changing ends and then completely forget it ever happened.
Women: They will engage in heated debate, either reluctantly concede the point or replay it while whispering disparaging remarks, gossip about the other individual within their group, thereby igniting a rivalry reminiscent of the West Side Story gangs, and subsequently harbour resentment until the end of time.
Example 2:
A drop shot is played and the player who gets the ball swears they got it before it bounced twice:
Men: Shout “WTF mate, that was two bounces!”. They may call each other names, shove each other a bit when changing ends and then completely forget it ever happened.
Women: Someone will die.
So what is the conclusion here? Is it better to play with men or with women?
It’s neither.
It’s always better to play with yourself…
(Against a ball machine, I mean. Get your mind out of the gutter.)