Judy was kind enough to contribute a guest post to our Why I Love… series. In addition to following golf, she is a die-hard baseball fan from Cleveland who longs for the glory days of the 1990s. Judy also raises Clumber spaniels in her spare time and competes with them in agility trials. She was a breed columnist for the AKC Gazette magazine for many years. Thanks for the contribution, and excellent primer on Ryder Cup play!
The Ryder Cup is so different from other golf tournaments that I look forward to it every two years. Originally a competition between the US and England, which the US dominated, all of Europe now constitutes the European team, and in recent times the Euros have dominated. Read more…
Please welcome Shannon, our most recent Olympics guest blogger. Shannon is a 30 year-old librarian who lives in Pittsburgh. She loves Pittsburgh sports and the Olympics and has always names her fantasy football team Dewey’s Decimators. She blogs regularly at www.librarianlistsandletters.com . This post is adapted from a post on her blog.
I love the Olympics because I have been there. Not as an athlete, of course. My athletic ability is capped at riding bikes on trails and taking walks in my neighborhood. But I’ve been lucky enough to live in countries that were hosting the Summer Olympics, and attend as a spectator, twice. Read more…
Before I go any further, I want to be clear that I am a proud American.
I pay taxes.
I eat more fried food than Colonel Sanders.
And I hate the Olympics. Read more…
I had just graduated from college and, while waiting for WNBC to offer me a radio disk jockey position as Howard Stern’s replacement, took a job in my home town of Lancaster, Pa., at a now-defunct sports bar called Rookies. Lacking any obvious Budweiser-pouring and hot wings-frying skills, Rookies’ management hired me on as one of two male servers. (The other guy was “the hot one.”)
Now, Rookies was a typical sports bar in most ways, except for a carefully crafted niche: they made sure to advertise the fact that, in the modern age of 1997, they had 4,731 televisions* and, therefore, could show every single NFL game playing on any given Sunday at the same time. You can probably guess that this excited a lot of people in my hometown in Pennsyltucky: “IGGLES. STILLERS. COWBOYS. WE CAN SEE ALL OF THE GAMES. Pack up the kids and let’s go.”
Hi. I’m Canadian. That means I’m morally obligated to love hockey, unless I want to be exiled, eh? Sadly, this love didn’t come to me until I was 13.
On October 4, 1991, I attended my first Vancouver Canucks game. That was also the San Jose Shark’s very first game – I still have my puck like the one above. My grandfather had four tickets, but they were not together. I sat with my dad for the first and second periods in the lower bowl while my brother sat with Grandpa in the upper seats; we switched for the third period.
It was unlike anything I had experienced in my life. Attending a game is not even remotely close to watching it on television. The atmosphere and excitement is electric. (Although, to be fair, I still find it somewhat difficult to follow along without the play-by-play.) The sights and sounds are overwhelming – well, at least for a 13-year old from the sticks they were.
I’ve been a Canucks fan ever since, and support the local hockey club whenever possible. I haven’t been to a Canucks game since I was 19 (14 long years ago), but I’d probably have to sell a kidney AND my liver to get good tickets now. Because of the family I’ve gotten myself into, I will also cheer for the Habs, but not when they’re playing Vancouver, obviously. And when it comes to the playoffs, if my team is practicing their golf swings, I’ll cheer for whichever Canadian teams are left.
I don’t know a lot about hockey: I just know that I love it, and that’s good enough for me.