I was raised to hate football. My mother the Feministo Exdrodanaire made it very clear what a consumer driven, ego-centric, chauvinist piggy, testosterone-fest the whole thing was. My father, a musician and an Aqaurius, had little interest in sports, beyond surfing ( living in Vermont, this made my parents the Odd-Couple de-luxe).
The closest thing we had to an interest in sports, was watching my little sister play soccer ( girl power was acceptable, but machismo was definitely NOT). I ran cross country in elementary school, but it wasn’t until college that I finally dove into the sports world.
I went to an elitist communication/arts college in Boston, called Emerson College. The sports atmosphere there was not unlike my hippie upbringing: COMPLETE AND UTTER DISDAIN. These were the kids who were tormented by jocks in high school, had thier faces beaten in, clothes urinated on in the locker room. My classmates pretty much had been the center of all things “wierd” in high school and had finally come to College to flourish in each other’s artistic glow.
Since I was an artsy kid too, I tried to like my peers. After about a week of going to classes with other creative thinkers, I was done. I HATED ALL OF THEM. Ok, maybe not all. I found a few soul mates, but for the most part I dispised my ultra trendy, ultra intellectual, super snobby, and most of all disgustingly RICH co-eds.
So what did I do? I went out and joined the basketball team. Having never played basketball, I thought there was no way I’d even be considered for an NCAA team, even if it was division III. As I mentioned before, however, the athletic interest at my school was close to nil, and I think barely 8 girls showed up to the try-outs. Lucky for me, the coach would have been out of the job, had I not showed up to make a 5 person team.
My basketball career ended after my Junior year, and I came away with a huge self-improvement to which I am eternally grateful for. I had always been the painter, the singer, the writer, the actor, and had been fearful of eveything else. My philosophy was “Stick to what you’re good at, and you’ll never fail at anything.” How gutless huh? Playing basketball threw that mantra right out the door for me, and THANK GOD.
I love sports now. After living in Boston and being surrounded by Red Sox Insanity, I could not get enough of the culture. My basketball coach came to practice every day wearing an “El Guapo” Red Sox Jersey, screaming “NO-MAH” to everyone’s delight. When my Emo study buddies would curl their noses in disgust at the drunk sox fans who boarded the T at Fenway, I would RELISH in it.
When the Patriots won Super Bowl XXXVI, I was living on Boylston St in downtown Boston. Most of my night was spent hanging out the window of my 6th floor dorm room and watching streakers burn rubber up and down the one-way streets. It was utter and complete chaos, and I loved every minute of it.
Now, back in Colorado, its all about football, and I’m ready to watch some. I don’t think you could call me “hard core” like some of the fans down here. I don’t have Bronco stickers on my car, or wear starter jackets, but I’m thinking about buyin a Champ Bailey Jersey this year. Damn I love that man. Best Cornerback in the league as far as I’m concerned.
The Broncos will be interesting to watch this year. With all the drama surrounding the shooting of Darrant Williams, and the hype surrounding the rookie QB ( SO GLAD THEY DITCHED PLUMMER’S CRACK), I think the Broncos have a lot of energy and anticipation going into their first game. Its funny, cause Jay Cutler is seriously the saddest looking Quarterback in the NFL. He looks a little like a stressed-out Mathew Perry right now, right after he came back from rehab.
I’m wicked intriuged by him though. Its always the quiet ones that shock and surprise, right? If I can swing it, I’m watching the game on sunday. I just have to find a TV where my mom can’t see it.