Saint or Greavsie?

Jimmy Greaves once said: 'it's a funny old game'. It's largely believed that Mr. Greaves was referring to football, but given his penchant for a daily 'George Best breakfast' at the time, I don't think he'll mind if I tug his words out of context a little. To my mind, Greavsie could just as easily have been talking about existence in general, or more specifically, what it is to be a man.

I've always felt ill-at-ease with the masculine gender. It's not that I'm particularly feminine either; rather, I can identify more readily with the expectations and connotations of femininity: gentleness, sensitivity, consideration. Conversely, the demands of masculinity induce nothing in me but a sense of alienation: physical toughness, single-mindedness, the conscious concealment of true feelings.

Forgive me for swiping at the gender canvas with some decidedly broad strokes - I feel pretty confused on the eve (or is it the eve of the eve?) of my Stag-do.

Much of this soul-searching has to do with the fact that the precise nature and location of my stag celebration is a mystery to me. As such, fear of the unknown is mixed up with feelings of immense gratitude to my friends for organising something so special, which is, in turn, mixed with feelings of excitement, dread and suspicion. As someone usually known for worrying over every last detail, (dare I say, a feminine trait?) I'm now fretting over the fact that I know none of the details. I'm worried that I might be inadvertantly forcing my friends to shell-out at a time of economic hardship, not to mention the traditional stag worries about being placed (or left) in a compromising position.

The ultimate irony, of course, of any stag do, lies in the fact that your absolute best friend, the one person you'd most like to go on holiday/get drunk with, is the one person who's not allowed to go. In an age where it's socially acceptable to live with your girlfriend before you marry (of our 7 years together, Char and I have lived with each other for 4 or 5) it's therefore something of an anomaly that the 'stag' tradition is alive and well, and you're ritualistically taken from the cosy, loving home that you've made together. What's more, you're obviously forbidden from inviting any female friends, which is why I feel rather uncomfortable as a spotlight starts to shine on (what remains of) my masculinity.

I think the best course of action is to repeatedly ask the question: "What would Greavsie do?" My inner Jimmy will recommend drinking lots and having a good time with my team-mates/friends. Greavsie, of course, was also well-know for 'scoring' throughout Europe, but I don't think my masculinity (or this metaphor) will quite stretch that far.