Inaugural Address

I am a sports fan.
Reluctantly.
I am athletically incompetent. I never played a sport. I have no hand/eye coordination (much to the consternation of my athletically gifted father). I am the epitome of the person you pick last for your team. I hate to sweat. I might be the girliest girl you will ever meet. For more than 20 years I was happily oblivious to the winners of super bowls, national championships, stanley cups and world series, and ignorant of contract extension fights, union disagreements, luxury taxes, parody, television rights and the foils and foibles of sports stars addicted to: crack, hookers and/or steroids....and I was okay with that. And now? These are all things I have a burning desire to know, and talk about, ad nauseum.

So why, why would a girl who only went to Super Bowl parties for the snacks and gossip, why would I become a late blossoming sports fan? I moved in with a dude. And not just any dude, my husband, the Super Sports Fan. He's "The Schwab". He remembers the score of games he watched when he was 10. He can rattle off the names of all of the Hall of Fame Steelers. He understands the rules in Hockey. He talks about the RBI's of players who long ago hung up their bun-huggers and stashed the HGH, and compares them to today's players. He knows the colleges attended by most NFL players. Chuck Noll is a god. Marino might be too. Western Pennsylvania has produced many current and former NFL greats. The Schwab is a hotbed of useless sports facts. And I live with him.

There is ESPN on in our house. All. The. Time. I never knew that Sports Center repeated itself sixty million times a day. And now I do. I'm still not sure if that makes me a better person or not.

Because I watch, I have opinions. Usually the Schwab is the only one who hears them, but I thought to myself the other day, "Reluctant, EVERYONE should be privy to the inner-workings of your psyche. Your thoughts and ideas are very, VERY important. They NEED to be shared with the world." And thus, a blog is born.