To my dismay, when I am at the beach, I am usually accompanied by those who prefer to tan or read or do just about anything that sucks the fun out of not being at work on a nice afternoon. To distract myself, I do a lot of people-watching. Sometimes I take notes. Sometimes I forget about notes I take.As I was looking for an old grocery list this evening, I found the following excerpt on my iPod. I have not edited it, so this note appears in the form that it was when I completed it on the beach that day.

The beach is uncrowded for a midsummer, Saturday afternoon, though this probably has much to do with overcast and windy conditions. Unlike most, I love this type of beach weather.

Two men in their early thirties, probably brothers, throw a football around near the water. The older is standing somewhat in the foreground, closer to where his extended family has set up camp on the beach. Nearby, his adolescent daughter digs at the sand. After a few moments, she wanders over to him, lightly tugging at his bathing suit to get his attention, but he gently nudges her away. She persists, and he grows tired of discouraging her efforts to spend time together, coaxing a cousin of the girl to join her as they go to the shoreline.

The younger of the brothers cannot catch the ball with any consistency. He tries to play off his misses coolly, certainly aware that each drop further quashes any hope of utilizing his athleticism to impress the attractive female lifeguards nearby. It is clear the older brother hurls the ball across the beach with a fervor indicative of a latent need to relive what I can only assume are the glory days of collegiate flag-football games of yesteryear.

They attempt to run patterns - buttonhooks and posts - with no success. Realizing this is perhaps an activity better suited for those with more recent practice in the sport, these efforts are shortly abandoned. Another forceful throw slips through the awaiting hands of the younger brother and bounces off his face before rolling several yards down the beach. He begins to nonchalantly stroll along the water to retrieve the dropped pass as he casually glances around to see if anyone noticed. Feeling as though he’s escaped embarrassment, he grabs the ball and continues about as if the incident had been altogether erased from the history of human events.

Several minutes pass, and the younger brother has made several catches in a row and appears to be growing confident. The female lifeguards have begun noticing the growing machismo that is starting to stand out on a particularly uncrowded and unimpressive section of beach. This is beginning to frustrate me. This guy doesn’t deserve the level of attention I’ve given him for the last few minutes let alone the potential adoration of young female admirers who are probably better suited developing an interest in me which I’ll never pursue because I’m ultimately shy in situations devoid of alcohol or other social lubricants.

I can’t help but feel as though it’s my job - nay, my responsibility - to make him and everyone around us aware of the fact that I saw him look like a fool. It’s as if, he got some “Get Out of Jail Free” card for looking like an unathletic wuss because nobody noticed. I want to get up out of my beach chair, march over and expose his embarrassment, but it won’t do any — oh wait, never mind. Big brother just overthrew a ball and, while in a full-sprint to catch it, little brother trips over the sand castle his niece was building and tumbles face first into the cold, hard sand before him. The niece is crying because her creation is ruined, the lifeguards uproariously laugh at him, and he attempts to pick himself up and check for cuts and bruises without letting on that he’s in pain. Awesome.