Hey there. Welcome to the BigTNilly sports blog. I call it a sports blog because at the moment, that's the only thing I really intend to write about in this space. You can count on an occasional cameo by some non-sports musings here and there, but for the most part, sports are what you're going to get here. This is something I've thought about doing for quite some time now, but yesterday, my sister-in-law (we'll call her Bean) gave me the kick in the pants I need to man up and get it done (you can also count on innumerable lousy sports cliches here as well). Basically she told me that if I wrote a sports blog, she'd read it. I'm that easy. Frankly Bean, I'm not so sure you won't be the only one.
My first post will focus on one of the most sacred and hallowed of American institutions: March Madness. If you think I'm exaggerating the meaning of the greatest sporting event of them all, check out this New York Times article that claims this rite of spring will cost businesses $1.2 billion in worker productivity during the next three weeks. That's more than the GDP of a few countries you've actually heard of.
The reason I wanted to start this blog today is so I don't miss the opportunity to crow to the world that after the first stanza of this year's tourney, I am currently atop the standings of the annual in-law pool for the first time since they generously (and misguidedly?) welcomed me into their fold. Will this dominance last? Not likely (thanks for nothing USC and Clemson), but I'll take whatever I can get. Now my zeal for piling it on may have you thinking that I don't like my in-laws (couldn't be further from the truth), we have some serious cash at stake (nope, Mormons don't bet), or that the winner has supreme bragging rights (getting warmer). But the real reason I care so much more about this pool than any other, is I happen to be the lone Ute in a sea of Cougars. Yep, that's it.
You see, I managed to marry into a family full of people who attended my alma matter's most bitter rival. The Duke to my Carolina if you will (I have some tremendous parallels between BYU and Duke I'll share in a later post). Even better, I happened to join them just as BYU began a run of dominance that causes me to spend three or four minutes staring at my inbox before I'll open an e-mail from anyone associated with the school down south. If you were to take away the Urban Meyer years, I would have to fake a mutant form of bronchitis before every family gathering. Generally, they're quite genial and don't give me too much grief about it, but as any fan that has endured a prolonged spanking by a bitter rival knows, no matter how hard you fight it, you can't help but feel a little inferior when you're standing in a room full of people who can always come back at any crack you make by saying, "4th and 18", leaving you with no retaliation. It's like when you go to a buddy's wedding reception after he married a girl you dated and when you shake his hand, you look him in the eye and he looks away because you both know who kissed her first.
Is this line of thinking completely irrational? Mos def. Crazy? Probably. But sports make normal and even high-functioning human beings do completely crazy and irrational things. Irrational things like taking a seven week-old baby to an 85 degree arena complete with blaring music and 15,000 screaming people consistently pouring shots of Southern Comfort into their Diet Coke--a Southern athletic event tradition--just because you got free tickets on the second row to a couple of guaranteed blowouts. Did I mention we didn't even take the kid to church for the first six weeks of his life for fear of exposing him to the elements? Or that we had to park a quarter-mile from the arena and carry him in on a warm spring day?
Irrational as it may be, for 16 beautiful hours that irrationality gave me hope that I can stand tall at the next family reunion (even more cougars at these things). Of course that hope is currently being crushed as my bracket becomes toilet paper at the hands of Stanford, Wisconsin, Michigan State, and (gasp) Texas A&M.
