Greetings, fledgling fan base. As this is my first column, and the strongest relationships are those built upon a foundation of honesty and trust, I feel the need to get something out in the open.
Right now, I am nothing more than an amateur sports columnist. However, it’s important that you not let the “amateur” part fool you, because I am an exceptional writer. Don’t believe me? I have literally not written one thing of substance yet, and you’re still reading. See? Great writer.
Plus, the title of my column is “The Gospel.” Get it? I’m implying every article I write is like the word of God himself. Clever right? I know what you’re thinking; I’m like a mix between a young Jay McInerney and a skinny, good-looking Jonah Hill. I get that a lot.
Now, as we establish this witty rapport of ours, I’m going to let you in on another little secret. Sometime in the not-so-distant future, I’m going to write something truly groundbreaking. Some people might even call it a generation-defining piece of literature. Naturally, said masterpiece will be a huge success, bringing me instant fame and fortune. I’ll be rumored to be dating various emotionally-questionable starlets, and my inevitable public intoxication arrests will be shamelessly plastered all over TMZ. It’s going to be awesome. Honestly, it is going to be a privilege for you to watch my meteoric rise.
Why am I telling you all of this you ask? Is it because I couldn’t resist making my first column overly self-indulgent? Absolutely.
However, my intentions weren’t entirely selfish. I began with this arrogant disclosure for two reasons: to first establish my bluster and pretentious prose as customary, and to then ask you to see beyond it.
At the end of the day, I’m really nothing more than a talkative fan. Actually, that’s probably an understatement. I’m passionate about sports in the way that Mark David Chapman was passionate about the Beatles. Are you paying attention Sox? Please take notice.
All kidding aside (but seriously Tito, get it together), I’m just saying that there are few things in this world that I care about more. Also, I sleep with a copy of “Catcher in the Rye” under my pillow.
That being said, does all this make me your typical sports columnist? Certainly not. But, as you’re reading the back page of our fair paper, it does mean that we have something in common. We share an endless need to satisfy our sports fix, no matter what our particular drug of choice may be. It is for this reason alone that you should read my stuff every week. Plus, years from now, you’ll be able to say that you were there before my career took off. Sufficient motivation, no?
Ok, before I lose all the momentum I’ve built up by talking about myself, I should probably move on to the sports portion of my sports column.
Originally, I had set out to write about the current conference shakedown, err shake up, in college sports. Although, seeing as how I just spent 500 words essentially blogging on paper, that story is going to have to wait. In the meantime, I’m going to wrap this thing up by attempting to justify where my unhealthy love for college sports comes from.
Before coming to our illustrious institution of higher learning, I attended the University of Kentucky for three years. You may have heard of it, they have a pretty decent basketball program (most wins in NCAA history, no big deal).
However, don’t let the unrivaled roundball pedigree fool you; the state of Kentucky still resides firmly-entrenched in SEC country. This means one thing: from August to November, football is king.
Of course, don’t get me wrong; it’s not easy for a basketball school to survive in the SEC. We’re talking about the conference that has put forward the last five national champions.
So, while the UK fanbase always has one eye on March, the Alabama’s and Florida’s of the world would literally ask their alumni to slaughter their first born if it meant winning a National Championship.
College football is no joke in the South. The result of this good ole boy hierarchy is that the top tier programs have an elite level of talent to fall back on, while schools like UK do not. This reality is a fairly annoying one when your school is getting pummeled by 40 on the road, but it also makes upsets at home that much more intoxicating.
Now, all of this is necessary information in order to fully comprehend how my sports fandom was irreversibly changed during the fall semester of 2007.
In the second month of what would ultimately be the most exciting football season in the history of the school, my Wildcats would rocket into the top 10 in the polls as a result of last minute upset victories over No. 9 ranked University of Louisville and No. 1 Louisiana State University. Couches were burned, noise violations were received, and tailgates somehow rolled over into benders.
Unfortunately, in a cruel twist of religious intervention, one week later Tim Tebow would come down from the cross in order to kick us squarely in the crotch on national TV. Ultimately, not much changed; couches were still burned, citations were still written, and the benders hit even harder. But, our premature dreams were crushed.
That being said, the cause of my brief emotional breakdown four years ago is not important within the context of this article.
The only thing that you need to take out of this is that for a brief time, I witnessed firsthand all that is good about college sports. I saw David take down Goliath, and as he stepped over his lifeless body, there was no paycheck waiting for him. Instead, there was a group of kids surging onto the field, black out drunk, but overwhelmingly proud of their classmates.
School pride is a pretty standard term in our lives right now, but there are times in which it takes on another meaning entirely.
Basically my point is this — there is a level of passion that comes with big time college athletics that can only be understood if it is experienced. In the end, it is the opportunity to watch your fellow students reach perfection that makes college sports special.
Plus, the cops are a lot cooler after big wins.
See you guys next week. I’ll miss you.
This is an account occasionally used by the Daily Free Press editors to post archived posts from previous iterations of the site or otherwise for special circumstance publications. See authorship info on the byline at the top of the page.