One of the downsides of never having played team sports growing up is that when Miles brought me his jockstrap and cup before his game tonight, I had no idea what to tell him. I did a Google search, making sure the boys weren’t looking at the monitor, because you never know what will pop up when you type, “How to wear a jockstrap.” After reading a few contradictory testimonials, Miles, Griffin, and I went to the boys’ room and discussed our options. Miles tried a few variations: cup inside jock strap over tighty-whities; jock strap under tighty-whities; jockstrap with no tighty-whities; cup pointing up; cup pointing down.
I can’t remember what we finally settled on, but Miles stood proudly with his fists on his hips like Superman. Griffin knelt down and went to punch him, but he stopped. “Wait,” he said. “Can I?”
“Go ahead,” said Miles. “Punch away.”
Griffin punched him in the cup several times, and Miles declared that it worked. But a few minutes later, in his full uniform, he danced and fidgeted and complained that the cup had slid up the other side and was wedged in his crack.
