Thanks for all your comments and personal stories. As I look back, I realize there was a combination of things that caused me to not want to pursue sports or athletics when I was growing up. I was always big for my age (tall and heavy-set), so that made me quite self-conscious about my body and my lack of coordination. I was not even mildly adept at anything in gym class (physical education), except being an easy target during dodgeball! So the idea of getting involved in any sport as an after-school activity did not even register in my mind as worthy of a moment's consideration. (Besides, I was always studying and working on school projects -- on my way to achieving academic honors.)
After gym class was over, of course, came "the locker room experience". I was terribly shy about getting naked in front of other people, even male classmates in middle school (starting in 5th grade). But I was definitely extremely curious about other boys (and men) and their "family jewels." During high school, my fascination with the male form only increased, as I got to see the amazing variety of penis and scrotum shapes and sizes. When I found out that the rule for our swimming class was for all of us to be completely nude, I was shocked! But what an eyeful I got!
As I have come to understand it, my growing interest and desire to see (and be close to) naked boys and men had a lot to do with the lack of emotional and physical closeness with my father. He was a workaholic, and it seemed that he rarely made time for me. This was in spite of the many attempts I made to try and "get his attention" by doing good things, which I hoped would impress him. For example, my determination to work for the best possible grades on my report card did not seem to make much of an impact on him.
Looking back, I believe it was really quite simple: I felt unloved and unimportant to him. He always seemed "distant". He was gone to his office extremely early every morning. So I never even saw that much of him. He was at home sometimes on Saturdays, and, of course, on Sundays between the morning church service and the evening service. But after dinner on Sunday afternoons, he wanted to read the paper and watch sports on TV... so we kids were instructed not to bother him.
He played softball in a local league, played basketball at the YMCA, and bowled in a winter league. He had season tickets and drove an hour each way to attend games of his favorite major league baseball team -- often taking his clients as part of his "business entertainment" activities. (I only remember ever going to a few games with him.) And he went on fishing trips with his long-time buddies. He seemed to love all sports. And he probably was disgusted with his son who didn't seem interested at all in any sport.
So the net result was that I grew up hating sports -- since I felt they took so much of my father's time and energy. Of course, I am well aware that he willingly gave his time and energy and money to pursue his interest in sports. But by comparison, I never felt that he gave much time or energy to me.
I'm in my 60's now, and I still don't know much about sports -- and couldn't care less. I know very little about the rules of the games, and often don't understand the running commentary of the broadcasters who go on and on about every little detail. Maybe in the end it will all even out: The amount of time I spend avoiding sports may come close to the amount of time my father devoted to sports. Nah... that will never happen.