ESPN Radio

I am addicted to sports talk radio.

Addicted.

It started during football season (I love football), but somehow, it has steamrolled into an everyday obsession. I sometimes enjoy basketball, thought I hadn't liked the NBA for years - until recently when those guys stopped playing like spoiled brats in a gym and started running like men on a hot, outdoor, asphalt court with something to prove.

But I digress.

And not just an ordinary obsession where I want to listen all the time. The kind of obsession that makes other people say "whoa". The kind of obsession where you get angry when, instead of hearing Mike and Mike, you hear Mike and Josh, or Doug and Mike, or The Herd is with John Seibel, not Colin Cowherd.

I need it to be Colin Cowherd!

And I feel left out when I hear a clip from a show I didn't get to listen to. Or I start to muse on the actuality of Reggie Miller and Dan Patrick's relationship.

I want to know it ALL.

But I won't subscribe to ESPN Insider because that's not how I want to spend my money.

Ah well, who knows. Maybe this obsession will only last 6 months, like my country obsession.

11

It was 1994, the summer before I went to college. OJ Simpson ruined the basketball playoffs, baseball was talking strikes and football wouldn't start until later that year. There were no good sports on the telly, so I tried a sport I had never looked into. Hockey.

What can I say? I was in the south. Hockey has not made its way to this area. We didn't have an NHL team. We didn't have any area rinks. Truth be told, we were all a little afraid of snow. We had a storm the year before all the 12 incheswe got was enough to make many people thank God that that type of blizzard only happened once every 20 years.

To be fair, I have a history of liking things my fellow southerns could care less about. I was a big fan of soccer. I was number 11, played the left wing position and my coach called me "the angel of death". What can I say, I was aggressive. I was one of six girls on our boys team and I loved it. After OJ took his sweet, ever loving, time driving around his city, right in the middle of the finals and I'm watching him do 10mph while while a small PIP continues b-ball coverage. I think we can all agree, not the same. I had to find something else and the Stanley Cup gave my that something.

I watched the Rangers play for the Stanley Cup. I had no clue what any of it was all about. I didn't know the rules. I just liked it. I always pick a player that I root for and so I picked someone with my number. It was Mark Messier. I didn't know anything about him, his history with the Oilers, his status as a player. I just knew I liked watching him play. He was aggressive and he was fast and his Rangers won that Cup. It was exciting to watch it all.

My family thought I was crazy, but that was okay. I moved to Boston, MA a few months later for school and fell in love with the Boston University hockey team, my home team. As an homage to hockey and to my number, I found a Mark Messier poster. It hung on my wall until it was destroyed during a move. I don't know if I was as much a Messier fan (though he deserved it) as I was paying respect to the person and the number, but I know that watching Messier play set the tone for watching hockey.

In January, the Rangers retired number 11. A few days ago, the Oilers did the same thing. Reading that story made me remember just how much I owe my love of hockey to that number.

Okay, We Get It Superdome

As a city that accepted refugees from Katrina, I understand. Finally, the Superdome is able to host the New Orlean Saints and what a celebration you had. U2 and Green Day? Municipal workers on the field? You were finally home and no one on the earth could combat that kind of energy and, in a way, no one would want to. So why did it have to be us? Why did we have to play you in this game? I hate that the Falcons lost, but I'm glad that the Saints get their reopening victory.