A week or so back, the NCAA amended college football’s (and as well as the other sports’) recruiting policy to forbid coaches and recruiters from text messaging high school players. This may not seem like a particularly big deal. But for someone like me, an avid fan of college football, this development is meaningful, significant, and a reflection of how terrifying the machinery of collegiate athletics.
Those that know me well know that I have a near psychotic obsession with Boston College sports. I’m a football season ticket holder, belong to two B.C. sports message boards and donate to my alma mater’s athletic fund with regularity. I’ve got a lot of pride in the school that educated me, and I cheer like a madman for my Eagles.
I am, of course, no different than the millions of other red-blooded college sports fans that live and die by their teams. I know Notre Dame alums that travel to South Bend every year to give a nod to Touchdown Jesus and watch a game. I know folks from Harvard and Yale that describe their times in school as simply “we were 3-1 during my tenure.” I know families in Florida that fiercely argue over where you could get a better show: in The Swamp or at The U. Heck, I know that 92,000 people went to Alabama’s spring scrimmage. Their spring scrimmage. This kind of pride (and the rivalries that it spawns) create brotherhoods rooted in cultish devotion. And while I love being part of a community that exhibits such passion, I realize that this passion manifests itself in peculiar and often disturbing ways. Folks want success so bad that their love becomes a destructive force, driving coaches out of a job and tearing up the lives of the kids that play. Read More
This being Easter, well, call me the Easter Bunny ’cause I’ve got a little present for you: a bit of wisdom!
Don’t change that channel.
If you already missed most of the game, just let it slide. Odds are, you’re not going to be pleased with the outcome– either you missed the good stuff, or the implosion happens as soon as you tune in. Anytime you flip to the game in the late stages, you’re: better off on the one hand waiting for “Sportscenter;” or on the other just plain not bothering. When you start watching late, you’re bound to be pissed. You missed the rally, or you tuned in for the loss.
Invariably, when I tune in for the late stages of any contest, I’m inviting disappointment. Case in point: tonight, BC vs. Michigan State for the NCAA Hockey championship. My father calls me and asks, innocently enough, “Are you watching? This is a great game!” Read More
I’m a terrible
gambler sports prognosticator. As mentioned previously, we do this little fantasy baseball league, and I’m solid middle of the road year-in, year-out. So it should hardly be surprising that my lack of picking prowess translates into other, equally venerable sports betting guessing arenas.
I entered an NCAA pool this year, giving in to that yearly sisyphean impulse. Imagine my dismay when I saw that Georgetown (and the combo of Patrick Ewing Jr. and John Thompson XV/V) and BC would meet in the second round! (If it helps the imagination, the most dismay I could experience was about five bucks’ worth.) What to do? Logically, I couldn’t pick BC over a bigger, more consistent Hoyas team with a fierce basketball pedigree… but if a team were to eliminate our Eagles, clearly I should pick them to win out. Read More