Monthly Archives: January 2008

My life is a crowded dance floor playing James Blunt’s “You’re
Beautiful” with all the couples either making out or wishing they were
while I stand and watch with a weirdly solemn look on my face.

(And yes, this did actually happen, hence the specificity.)

not cut out for the stupid dance clubs. I’m a gangly 6’4″ white boy who
can’t dance worth a shit, for one. And for two I have less than no
ability to meet people this way. This just isn’t the way things are
supposed to work, at least not for me.

I feel like I’m just so
far behind everyone else in life. When it comes to love, jobs,
friendships, accomplishment, whatever you want to go with, I simply
don’t feel like I’m up to the same standard of life that everyone else
in America has come to take for granted because they actually started
life at age 14 instead of being a little bitch like me and waiting
until they left their teen years to grow a pair of testicles.

A. Bob


Life goes on.

I’ve successfully gotten away from my little problem, but now am having to worry about a bigger one – job-hunting. My pipe dream would involve landing near Chicago or in central Illinois, the latter of which would put me roughly equidistant from most of the big Midwest cities. As it happens, Champaign/Urbana lands right near that area, so getting some sort of job covering Illinois athletics wouldn’t be too bad. Problem is, I really have no leads. I want to work at a radio station or maybe a newspaper in a sports town, but have no real sources to go on. I met Bill Moor, of the South Bend Tribune, last summer through my uncle, but he made no bones about the fact that he really didn’t hold a lot of weight elsewhere. Maybe he was just trying to make me not get my hopes up, but I doubt it.

Anyways, big things coming. Next week I’m hoping to do a quick feature story on how Anthony Newell’s comeback is going from his foot injury, and there’s a big, big feature in the works on Peyton Stovall for when he heads to Atlanta for the Wooden Citizenship Cup dinner. That one I’m hoping will be a resume piece.

A. Bob