I am by no means a sports fan. If I come upon a televised sports contest (I know calling it a “televised sports contest” makes me sound really nerdy – because I probably am), I click the clicker before the sound even comes on. Many times I wish I was a sports fan so I would have something to watch on television.
In my younger years I did play little league baseball and suffered through basketball from the 5th grade through the 9th grade but just really never got it. Didn’t like it, didn’t excel at it, just didn’t understand it. Of course, given that I actually participated and as a result experienced the screaming and fighting involved (mostly from the parents – actually totally from the parents), I kind of lost any interest. I remember more about the fights that broke out after the little league games (among the parents) than I did about the playing itself. Oh, and the trip to the Dairy Delight afterwards. I do remember that.
On top of all that, I wasn’t (am not) the team sports kind of guy because I eventually settled on cross-country as my sport of choice. Long story short, I don’t follow sports these days. Or did I say that already?
So where do I wind up? I live in the center of the basketball universe – Lexington, Kentucky. And I still do not get it. I really am without a clue in the land of blue. In the past several months with the puffs and the gruffs from local UK Wildcat fans over the Billy G woes, and the equally exuberant whoops over the hiring of John Calipari as the new UK coach, I have decided I am going to actually try to get into all this. At the very least, I’ve discovered the drama in it.
Despite it all – not reading the sports section, not knowing where ESPN even is on the dial, I could not help (who could, really) getting caught up in the drama. It had it all – bad guy, good guy, damsels (well, fans) in distress. All the makings. I even found my self talking “sports” with a cousin of mine just by recounting the G saga and the coming of J.C.
Hmmmm. J – C. You know, in my American Lit class in college, we were always told that any character with the initials J. C. most likely represented a Christ figure. Anyway, I digress, but that’ll probably be the subject of a later post. See, I’m already getting into this. I’m willing to take it a step further and use this dramatic hook to actually try to become a Wildcat fan. It might sound unnatural, but I’ve become a fan of things before that I never thought I would become a fan of, like sushi, Neil Diamond, kimchee…
I’m not going to paint a room in my house royal blue and adorn it with blue and white throw pillows and little bobble-head likenesses of every coach back to Adolf Rupp (Really, his name was Adolf? – okay, I digress and possibly offend).
Oh, but if I did the bobble-head thing, I would have to have a beheaded Billy G. bobble-head, right? See, I might already be getting the hang of this.
So, for now, I shall commence my journey, actually reading the sports pages (I’m not ready for ESPN XII – baby steps and all). It will all be about the Wildcat fans, to figure out just who these people are in hopes that I’ll grasp their abundance, appreciate their exuberance and finally become one of them. Kind of like the “Others” on Lost. Well, that’s a bad example, plus it’s nerdy.
But, really now, $30+ Million over 8 years? Really? Really? Okay. There must be love there and I must find it and make it mine. On, on, U of K!