SPORTS HELL

With my little girl finally in bed asleep, I grabbed my diet drink, sat down on the couch, and let all of the stresses of the day leave my mind. The Jazz / Rockets game 5 had just tipped off and I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the evening watching the game. As the seven minute mark of the first quarter passed, my wife asked me if I wanted to American Idol. I gave her a quick smile, naturally assuming that she was joking. One look at her face, however, told me that she wasn’t. With all the kindness I could muster after a long day, I calmly explained the importance of the game to my sweet eternal companion. With the same sweetness, Julie uttered the words I hoped I would never hear, “My life has become a sports hell.” Ouch!

To be fair, I couldn’t have asked to have a wife who enjoys sports as much as she does. This was one of the qualities that drew me to her. Back in our carefree dating days, we even traveled to Boston to see the Red Sox play. Through nearly every triumphant win and painful loss during the last four years, Julie has been by my side. So I ask, what has happened to my one time sports companion? I can’t help but feel that I might be responsible in some small way.

Maybe not everyone enjoys the 12 month sports season. College football kicks off in September and runs to the first week of January (or however long the BCS is dragging the season on these days). NCAA basketball tips in November and runs through March. This is just in time to pick up on the NBA playoffs beginning in April and running to June. Don’t forget that baseball opens in April and carries us through until October. Yep, 12 months of enjoyment . . . or hell according to some.

Maybe it’s that fact that Sports Center and ESPN News play constantly when I am at home on Saturdays and Sundays.

Maybe it’s the fact that Julie can’t sleep at 3:00 am when I am downstairs breaking down game film from an especially painful loss.

Maybe it’s the fact that we had to postpone Caitlyn’s baby blessing because BYU football was playing in San Diego on the first weekend of December.

Maybe it’s the fact that on some nights I tell Manny Ramirez that I love him, before I tell Julie that I love her.

Maybe I am somewhat to blame, but to call her life a “sports hell” was a low blow. I better trade her Red Sox shirts for mom jeans and buy her a minivan because my days of having a “cool” wife are over. She fooled me and I bought it hook, line, and sinker. How long before she asks me when the basketball games kicks-off or how many points do the Red Sox have.

BTW- I love you Julie!

OLD "MO"

Oh momentum you fickle, fickle thing. You seemed securely set with the Jazz until Deron Williams shot was blocked and time ran out at the Energy Solutions Arena late last night. Where have you gone old “Mo” a Jazz nation turns its lonely eyes to you? I was up late working on a project for school, but recorded the game on Tivo. Yet, even without watching live, I could almost sense the panic that filled the Wasatch Front at about 11:00 pm last night. The series now sits at 2-1, Jazz.

For me, the start of every seven game series is the same. In game one, you as a fan are trying to figure out your emotions just as the two teams are trying to figure out each other. You want to care, but it is not life or death. You’re upset if your team losses game one, but there are six chances left. You’re not going to lose sleep over it. Game two is more vital. The hate that was established by a bad call, hard foul, or perceived feeling of disrespect in game one, now begins to boil. Lose game one and two and you’re in a very deep hole. A split feels good, especially if you are the road team. A 2-0 lead, and you start watching the other series to see who your next opponent will be. At 2-0, old “mo” is your loyalist friend. He makes you laugh. He makes you feel good about yourself. He makes you proud to be a sports fan. Oh “mo”, you fickle, fickle man.

The Jazz came home from Houston with an unthinkable 2-0 lead in the series. Sports talk radio was a buzz, car flags were flying out of Fanzz stores, and billboards began to read “We Love Our Jazz.” “BEAT L.A., BEAT L.A., BEAT L.A.!!!!” Uh Jazz fans, didn’t you forget something? Oh yeah …those two meaningless games in Utah. There was no magic at the ESA last night. Williams couldn’t see Boozer and his shot didn’t find the bottom of the net. Series, 2-1. There will be another game in Houston. “HEY MO!” “Where do you think you are going?!?”

2-1 becomes too close for comfort after a 2-0 lead. Suddenly fans with tickets to Saturday’s game aren’t just “takin’ in a ball game.” They are in an all out pressure cooker. If the Jazz win (which I will bet dollars that they do), they will be up 3-1. Ah, it’s good to see you again “Mo.” If they lose, the series will be 2-2, with two games left in Houston. In this case, old “Mo” will be known as the biggest two-timing whore you have ever met! At 2-2 . . . old “Mo” will have chosen his lot – the Rockets. He will never come back.

I think “Mo” is just checking out the scenery. Looking for some adventure in life. Saturday night he will find himself back on the Jazz bench with a 3-1 lead.

At least I think. . . Oh “Mo” you fickle, fickle thing.

OPENING DAY 2008 - Boston, MA

~OPENING DAY~

I often reference October 2003 as one of the most painful times in my life as a sports fan. The Red Sox late inning collapse against the Yankees in Game 7 of the ALCS was a devastating day for those in Red Sox Nation. Those days were so dark that I actually wondered how difficult it would be to find a 1981 De Lorean that I could race to 88 mph and go back in time and change the outcome of the game. I nearly accomplished it, but I could never get the flux capacitor to work. However, it was because of this experience that Tuesday April 8th was so special to me.

I stood on Lansdowne Street in the chilly Boston air on April 8th with my friends and thousands of other Red Sox fans waiting for the gates at Fenway Park to open. It was truly an awesome experience. I was amongst my own, the true Red Sox Nation. Separate from those who joined only after Keith Foulke got Edgar Renteria to ground out in 2004. To be at Fenway Park is an event. To be there on Opening Day is truly surreal. It is almost as fun to be outside the park as it is to be inside. On every street corner posters, calendars, and World Series pins were being handed out. The street vendors were out in force. “Peanuts, pistachios, cashews, super pretzels here!!!!!” To be back on these narrow streets which surround the park was like coming back home.

Once inside the park we quickly found our seats. There are few things in life that are as amazing as the first glimpse into Fenway Park. Walk up any portal and a new world opens right before one’s eyes. The park was alive with activity. The grounds crew was putting the final preparations on the field. The scoreboard on the Green Monster was ready for a new game and a new season. Fans anxiously awaited the beginning of the Opening Day festivities. Every worry in life suddenly seemed so far away. Before I settled in, I bought my traditional Fenway Franks. The price was steep, but the best things in life usually come with a price. A Fenway Frank is not simply a hot dog, but an experience.

At 1:00 pm the festivities began. A “2004 World Series” banner rolled down and covered the entire Green Monster. A moment later, a “2007 World Series” banner took its place. The crowd erupted! I hadn’t teared-up that much since my daughter was born. The Boston Pops Orchestra, situated in center field, began to play. One by one each member of the Red Sox staff and each member of last years World Series team received their rings. With new rings in hand, David Ortiz and Red Sox legend Johnny Pesky raised the 2007 World Series Champions flag high over Fenway Park. A new season was ready to begin. The Boston Pops played the National Anthem and the Vermont Air National Guard gave the fans a fly-over better than any aerial stunt show (see “Fenway Flyover” on Youtube if you don’t know what I am talking about). In the final moments Bill Buckner, 1986 Red Sox scapegoat, walked across center field into the infield and stopped at the pitchers mound. The Fenway crowd stood and cheered a man who had wrongfully taken the brunt of the 1986 World Series collapse. With a tear in his eye, he threw out the opening pitch. The 2008 Red Sox season was underway.

I spent three cold days in Boston, waked back and forth across the city too many times (including 294 painful stairs at the Bunker Hill Monument), and spent more money than I should have. Yet, I wouldn’t trade the experience. There is no city greater than Boston. Its history symbolizes everything good about the United States. The Boston Red Sox are part of that history. To be there on Opening Day and celebrate the 2007 World Series Champions was a once in a lifetime event. I forgot about the pain of 2003 when the Red Sox won in 2004. In 2008 I finally got to celebrate the revival of Red Sox baseball. Thank you to my friend Eric for this opportunity. GO RED SOX!