Before I moved to Boston this summer, I was warned of the hurdles I would face after leaving the BC Bubble. This list consisted of the scorching heat I would feel in my non-air-conditioned apartment, angry Red Sox fans after a home-team loss, and cars that ignore the pedestrian crossing sign at intersections. What I was not warned of was the crisis evading Boston from Fenway all the way to the North End: euro steppers.
Gaining its name from basketball player Šarūnas Marčiulionis, the euro step is a two-part move requiring crafty footwork. In this maneuver, an offensive player moves past a defender by stepping one way and then taking a lateral step in the opposite direction. Check out this gif if you are a visual learner and this description is not rich enough for you to imagine Marčiulionis’ legacy.
It is fair to say that the euro step is a pretty impressive move. I do not like basketball, but when a game is on TV in my boyfriend's apartment, I can appreciate a solid euro step. What I cannot stand is when people take the euro step off the court, namely to the streets of Boston. For one, it’s a hazard to my ankles. I have already broken my left ankle once; the last thing I need is for a rotten teenager’s amateur side-stepping to lead to an ankle mishap. Also, why choose to euro step by someone when there are much cooler moves to choose from? You could skip, crab walk, crawl, hop on one leg or even juggle past someone instead. Now, I would enjoy witnessing someone engage in one of those moves on a Boston afternoon. Finally, someone could be having a tough day after hearing some bad news. For example, someone may have just learned that Roe v. Wade was overturned. This hypothetical person may need only a small trigger to set them off and for the rest of their day to be ruined. A euro step could be (and was) this trigger.
The result of Bostons’ euro step crisis has been the creation of a divided city: the evil euroers and those who fear them. Those who resist the pressure to join the euro movement have two options: never leave their homes or protect themselves. Personally, I have chosen the latter choice and refuse to leave my apartment without a shield or water gun. As I spy-roll down the streets with my protective devices, I await the days I am back in the BC bubble, safe from the outside world.