2/20/2007

By FatMan in Charlotte
for BigBlueInteractive.com

I used to look at February as being the start of the darkest part of the year – it was still cold as hell out, pitchers and catchers didn’t report for a few weeks, and hockey and basketball were in lulls during the year. About the only excitement was the impending March Madness. For me it was agony. But along the way, something changed. I’m close to putting my finger on it, but I’m not positive yet if I have it right. I got older, wiser, and the hero factor of the athletes I worshipped has grown less and less dominant.

I guess aging is an "X" factor for all of us. Growing up, my Dad and uncles wouldn’t think of missing a Giants game. Nowadays, I’ll call home and my Dad will be planning on catching the second half. I don’t want to get that way, but I fear I will. As I get older, I see professional athletes less as mythical figures and more as human beings with flaws. And I think that affects the level of enthusiasm I have. As I get older, I see less attention being paid to the fans, and more paid to corporate and network sponsorship. As I get older, I find myself wanting to spend time with my wife and kids, especially on the weekends if I’ve been traveling. As I get older, I realize that Seinfeld-isms like "You root for the laundry" are really truisms. But more than anything, I realize that there is nothing mystical about why a team wins. Clutching a blue Nerf football in my left hand while wearing my lucky underwear has no effect on a positive outcome. Switching from channel 5 to channel 12 didn’t "break the momentum" like I once thought (I apologize that only Southern Tier people will get that reference). The only thing that effects play is the players on the field and their heart, talent and desire. And once you start to realize this, it’s like finding out Santa Claus isn’t real. And frankly it sucks. I appreciate that as we age we gain a wisdom – let’s not forget though – that wisdom isn’t always for the better. It also exposes things you didn’t want exposed.

But the offseason seems to cure this for me. In a complete turnaround from what it used to be, the offseason is a blessing. It takes those batteries that have died and it recharges them. And that is why I leave the combine, free agency, and the Draft to the experts. I don’t want any part of it. I don’t want to obsess on whether or not we are going to pick the linebacker from Kentucky over the cornerback from Mercyhurst. I don’t care if a guy runs a 4.2 and can jump a tall building in a single bound. I just want him to catch the ball better than Tim Carter and I won’t find that out until September. It’s also why I don’t want to look at "Mock Draft #3,762", because it really isn’t any better than Mock Draft #1 to me.

You know what I want? I want to streak home on opening day and watch the Reds play the afternoon game. I want to watch the home opener at Yankee Stadium. I want to watch cars going in a circle on Sunday afternoons. I want to play catch with my son, and kick the soccer ball around with my daughter. I want to watch the Rangers make a playoff run, or Syracuse and Bucknell make it to the postseason. I want to go on vacation. Have some caramel corn, a coney dog, and frozen custard. Maybe add an Italian ice for a snack. I want to fall asleep with the Dodgers vs. Rockies on the TV. I want to read a good book on my back porch or better yet in a chair on the beach. I want to play softball or baseball and go out for beers after the game. I want to light fireworks on the Fourth of July and have a BBQ. I want to take the family to a Sunday Matinee of whatever the latest Pixar crap is in the theater. I want to have a poker game with lots of beer and cigars. I want my wife to go scrapbooking so I can watch whatever I want for a few hours and not be nagged about flipping over to HGTV. I want to call my Dad and ask him if he saw Jeter’s great grab to keep the Yanks ahead. I want to buy fresh mint and make a mojito. I want to buy a huge hunk of meat and smoke it. And I want to stay off of BBI for a couple of months. And I certainly don’t want to debate why Shockey and Plax should be in NY.

If I can do all those things from now until September, I’ll look at week one like I always have. There will be butterflies in my stomach. A freshness in the air. A tense, uncertainty as to what we have on the field. A long awaited start to my favorite time of year. By week two, when my friend calls to ask me what just happened on the Giants’ TD and I ask him why he missed the play - when he responds that he was walking the dog, I’ll disown the bastard and refuse to give him any detail other than a slam and a dial tone. And I’ll live and die each Sunday. How I feel Monday will be a direct relation to how the Giants did. And I’ll hope. And I’ll pray that by week 17 I’m still as ornery as before. Because I don’t know if these batteries will always recharge. It’s the one time I hope my parents spent the extra dollars to load me up with Energizers instead of Eveready’s. And someday when my son calls I want to tell him I’m catching the entire game.

And that is The FatMan weighing in…