The only race I've ever won was to the egg.
That's pretty much been my life story since I began my quest on this earth late in the 20th century.
But since that triumphant sprint in the late summer of 1982, things have not so much gone the way I would have liked. Not necessarily in school or with jobs: that stuff isn't all that important. I'm talking about the world of sports.
I'm talking about the reason I chose my school and the reason that I directed my career path. I'm talking about more than $60,000 being yanked out of my bank account just to go to Penn State for four years, all because of the football.
And I don't think I even have to tell you that investment didn't turn out so schweet. It wasn't soon after I was born that the Philadelphia 76ers won their most recent NBA championship. We all know how many the Big Four from Philadelphia have won since then.
I certainly wasn't old enough to appreciate the Penn State championship in 1986, but I definitely was in 1994. Only we got Tom Osborne-d out of that one.
But I've always had a theory on sports. Whether it is basketball, lacrosse or even football, my motto has always ringed true: sports are like diarrhea, they're games of runs.
So I came to Penn State with a fresh attitude, ignoring all the warning signs of a diminishing football program. My agony can't go much longer before things start to turn around, I thought.
My first game ever as a Penn State student was the Miami game. It was the best game I ever saw. That is, until it actually started. But at least I got to see some amazing things first hand, such as Clinton Portis, the future national champs, along with the demise of Matt Senneca. I'm not sure which was most enjoyable.
Scrap that season, 324 aside, I moved on to Philly's favorite phrase, there's always next season. This time, however, the season had some promise. I had Mills fever, only to see Larry Johnson run wild and get everyone's hopes up.
We could have used one of his diapers these past two years with the load Penn State dropped. Before I could get "we're back, babeee" all the way out of my mouth, I saw the rise back to national prominence slip right through the Nittany Lions' hands. Or were those Tony Johnson's?
Face the facts people, I'm a curse. I travel with a black cloud.
You might think that two years at Penn State-Altoona might have kept me far enough away from Penn State to drag anyone down. But wouldn't you know it, the first year I start covering the Altoona basketball team, Stevie Portland, Rene's son, gets cut.
Finally I make it to the varsity campus, bringing what I hoped would be a clean slate.
I started my career on The Daily Collegian staff covering fencing. If you thought it was a small enough sport, well you're mistaken, because I was there to see a team that won nine championships in the past 14 years not even end the season in the top two.
This past fall I covered the women's soccer team, which had arguably the best player in the country and the school's highest NCAA tournament seed at No. 2.
The season was fun, and actually a nice respite from the football team. A man can only take a 6-4 loss so well, so seeing the soccer team outscore the football team was actually quite amusing.
But it was too good to be true, and Paula, I'll take the blame for the second-round loss against Maryland.
But I saved my best work for last.
Assigned to the Lady Lions in the winter, I couldn't have even predicted such horror. The Lady Lions were the lovable team for many, mostly senior citizens, betwixt the football season and spring football.
A first-round upset, a complete dismantling of the team and a combined nine points returning for next season's team would make a bull in a china shop jealous.
Fear not locals. The next phase of my life takes place three hours east of here, and that's way too far to jinx Derrick Williams' hamstring or Dan Connor's shoulder.
Knock on wood. One day things will come around. They have to.
But that's why I love the song "Only Time," because you stick that CD in 'Enya' can't stop listening.
Thanks, you've all been great. I'm never coming back. Never.
