The Best Advice?

Ok, so maybe this wasn't the best advice I've ever been given, but it's certainly up there. And it made me really think:

When life gives you lemons...
Make apple juice and confuse the heck outta life.

That's exactly what I'm looking to do this year. I have so much on my plate and I'm already so stressed about it, even though school hasn't even begun. At the end of the year, I want to look back and ask myself "how the heck did I do it?"

I'm no Superman, but with the right dedication, time management, and support, I know I can do everything on my 27-page to-do list for this semester. I've talked about it enough, and as I like to say: The only thing left to do is to do it.

Short and Sweet

Anyone else ever feel it? Like there's just something you're meant to be, something you're supposed to do no matter what? Or maybe it's a calling. Not even necessarily something you want to be, or do. Even something you resist with everything you have.

Much to your dismay, no matter what you do you can't escape it. It follows you, no- it chases you through life. Stepping with you everywhere you go. So close that you know it's always there. You know it's there too. Only you try to ignore it. Usually you can, but it always comes back, during your darkest hour.

Lie to yourself all you want, but it will always be there. Over and over again will it haunt you until you confront it. Very few have the courage to do so. Even those who seem to have it all together might even struggle with this. You know you can't get anywhere until you face it, but it's just so hard. Or maybe if you just keep pushing it deeper and deeper, it'll go away. Under everything you pile on top of it, maybe it'll just go away.

Congrats if you've got it figured out. Because I certainly don't.

Imagine Me Rapping This:

Roses are red, violets are blue.
Freshman year's over, now onto year two.
It's gonna take pain, it's gonna take trust,
And with more than three jobs, hard work is a must.

Last year was a test, one I think I did pass.
Although I just about lost it in every single class.
But now college stepped up its game, as I must do as well,
Oh by the way, I have two textbooks to sell.

I'll start off the year, before it even begins,
Teaching freshmen all day, until NSO ends.
But don't forget about training, in three different ways,
That's how I'll spend each and every of my next seven days.

And then it's onto the classes, and onto the work,
You can bet I'll do it all, with my *ahem* "special" quirk.
It's a good thing I'm done with all my room arranging,
I'm just glad to be finished with all of IWU's "world changing."

And then I'll start both my jobs, or continue, I'd say,
Working for the radio station, and Sojourning all day.
I'm the new sports editor, and news director also,
You can bet your bottom dollar that Elder's where I will go.

There will be plenty to do, this I know for sure,
But I'll do it all with a smile, 'cause I have much to smile for.
And I'll make time to be with people, this is without a doubt,
There will be so many good times, when I'm just hanging out.

This will be a year of growth, this will be a year of change,
By the end I'll be different, I might even act my age.
But when I'm through I'll be better, for the things that I've done,
And the people I've met, and because of the fun.

Well boys and girls, that's all the words I've got,
Will I get sleep this year? I'm thinking I'm not.
So with my laptop in hand, and my fingers all steady,
Just one thing to say: get 'cho popcorn ready.

One Step Back, Two Steps Forward

I get stuff done early. It's kind of my thing. For instance, during my first semester at college, a five-page paper was assigned in English class one day. We had more than two weeks to work on it, but I decided to stay up until five o'clock the next morning... finishing it.

Over the last month, I've written 40 pages of jock talks (one-minute monologues to be read on my weekly radio show) that will last me almost all of this semester. Don't believe me? I have a 10,000-word Document that will back me up.

Another thing I've done this summer is write six editorials for the sports section of the newspaper this year, way ahead of time.

The main thing that I try to do ahead of time is get experience. I started working for a newspaper at age 15. I was on staff for my college's newspaper before I was even a college student. I was hired as the sports editor for that same paper before I turned 19.

But you know what Peter Parker's uncle says: "With great power comes great responsibility."

Not all of this experience has been something I enjoyed writing in my journal though. There have been several times where I have been humbled as a journalist and a writer. And some experiences where I have just been outright wrong.

One thing I have always told myself is that I'm just paying my dues. I said this mostly on the cold, rainy nights in high school while covering soccer games or track meets.

Now I say it on the all-too-frequent occasions when I mess up.

But, as I always try to convenience myself, better to learn now and get those mistakes out of the way while I'm still young.

Is it ever good to make mistakes? Normally, my knee-jerk reaction will be a resounding "hay-eck no." But after I think about it, maybe it isn't so bad. Especially when you're young.

Personally, I learn more from my mistakes than I do successes. Because I remember them more. I taped a less-than-stellar research paper I wrote to my door last year so I would see it every day. It reminded me to work harder and do a better job in the future. Simple as that.

If you think this is just about my career as a sports writer, you obviously need to read my blog more.

I'll say one final thing: I know I make mistakes, and I make them often. But you will never meet anyone who wants to become better after making those mistakes than me. It may take time, but I will right my wrongs, and I'll be glad for my mistakes in the end.

Blast From the Past

Today has been a Sojourn day. It's been a day to plan ahead for the fall sports section, and a day to kick off the year with an article that was just published today. In the midst of much planning and writing and worrying (oh, the worrying) I found an interesting piece I wrote a long time ago. At least, nine months ago seems like a long time.

I quite literally wrote the following editorial in the backseat of my parents' car on the way to my hometown of Cincinnati for Christmas break. It is so weird to read it nearly a year later, and see how much I've matured both as writer, student, and person.



Written on 12/15/10, between 5-9 o’clock p.m., while riding in my car to Cincinnati:

It’s been 108 days. No, this is not some obscure Lost reference. This is the number of days since I first stepped foot on the beautiful campus of Indiana Wesleyan University to be a full-time student. Since then, I have only left for the occasional midnight Wal-Mart run and a long weekend for Thanksgiving. But now, I’m in a green 2001 Chevy Prison Cell, speeding at 70 miles per hour to an extended vacation back to the place I once called home.

But IWU is my home now.

Driving off campus knowing that I won’t be back for 23 sunsets-over-the-student-center is a terrible feeling. As soon as the back tires hit Interstate 15, I am hit with depression like a coffee addict when McConn closes. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. I’m as clueless as a freshman on the first day of NSO.

Rest assured, tomorrow morning I will roll out of bed and start getting ready for my 9:25 World Changers class. Then, when I realize that class will not be taking place (hooray!), I will text a friend and ask if they would like to go to lunch at Wildcat for one of their legendary burritos. When night falls, my ping pong hand will start to itch and I will try to head over to the game room in the student center for a couple rounds. Finally, dejected, an hour before I remember to check in for curfew I will consider going to fatmeal and drowning away my depression in some lukewarm scrambled eggs.

Sure, go ahead, make fun all you want. Maybe I love the ‘WU a little too much. Maybe letting out a heavy sigh after seeing signs that said I was leaving Marion is a little extreme. Maybe the car ride “home” is a little too early to start the countdown to coming back. But maybe, just maybe, I’ve found my favorite spot, the happiest place on earth, my own personal Disneyworld.

I’m not saying that it’s perfect here by any means. It would be ignorant to say that even a place as great as IWU doesn’t have its flaws. Sometimes I just feel like dancing and chugging some Naked Juice, and this university does not quite encourage that. But despite its blemishes (which are not nearly as numerous or injurious as they are at other colleges; think about that the next time you complain about the puke tree outside Elder) I can honestly say that this place makes me happy. The people here, the faculty, the traditions and the overall atmosphere simply make me smile like a red package claim slip in my mailbox.

I’m almost “home” now. The roads are becoming more familiar, but somehow less friendly. I may be leaving behind classes, homework and stress, but the farther I get from IWU, the more thankful I am that I will probably be here all summer.

Graduating is gonna be tricky.

Not Your Typical Guy

I know my title is sports journalist. And I know my position is sports editor. But I am not your stereotypical sports writer.

When I was younger however, I was. Sports were everything I did; everything I thought about. Which probably explains why I never had a girlfriend until I was 17. I could rattle off statistics like song lyrics, name every first-, second-, and third-string quarterback in the NFL, and give you detailed information about my infamous mock drafts.

It's been years since that was how I thought. I'm not exactly sure what happened, all I know is that before I couldn't live without sports, and now I can. This is not to say I've grown tired of them. I still flip on Sports Center for an hour or so most nights. But I don't need them. My sense of purpose and self-worth is not tied to them.

While I still enjoy playing sports, going to games, watching events, and writing about sports, that doesn't mean my life revolves around football or baseball. I am perfectly capable of having conversations outside of sports, and sometimes I even prefer it. When a friend of mine found out that I was going to be the sports editor at The Sojourn this year, he was absolutely shocked because he didn't even know I liked sports.

This is something I do intentionally. I don't seem like a sports geek because I'm really not one. I don't wear sports jerseys or t-shirts much. I don't really care if you like sports or not- that's not a sticking point for me. If you wanna talk about who has the inside track on the NBA Finals this year, sure I can do that. But if you wanna talk about music, books, art, movies, feelings, or anything else: I can do that too.

One Step Short of Crazy

Have you ever just known something?

It doesn't make any sense. You can't describe it. God knows you can't explain it. But still, you know it just the same.

Call it a sixth sense. But sometimes it really does happen. There's that indescribable thing inside of you that tells you something is true; something that cannot possibly be true, but you believe it anyway.

You might say it's instinct or just a gut feeling, but what about when it's more than that? Something that you stick to, even when everyone else says it's not true. A conviction maybe?

How about when you're willing to risk anything and everything for this belief? You're safety, health, pride; your future. What do you call it then?

There's nothing to call it. You just know.

Personally, this is a really tough idea for me to grasp. I'm a realist (which is just what pessimists call themselves in public), so I like to have hard evidence before I believe in something or someone. Give me a reason to trust you, then I'll think about it. You need to convince me that something has merit, and then I need to see it for myself before I can count on it.

Needless to say, I'm no fun in a "seeing is believing" debate.

But every once in a while (and by that I mean about three times in my life) I've become so convinced of something without any convincing. I've had proof without being shown any evidence. I've believed without seeing. And because it happens so rarely, I become consumed with it. Not in a serial-killer, newspaper-clippings-taped-to-my-wall kind of way, it's more like the way Nicholas Cage described it in National Treasure:

"One step short of crazy, what do you get?"
"Obsessed," said his stereotypically-goofy sidekick.
"Passionate," came the bold answer.

That's me. Passionate.

There's another line from National Treasure that describes me. When Cages' character is speaking of the oh-so-elusive treasure that he doesn't even know really exists, he drops this gem which is simply perfect for this piece: "I've dreamed it's real... I just wanna know it's not just something in my head or in my heart."

Again. That fits me to a tee.

I guess believing in something against all odds is never going to be easy. And to an extent, all you can do is wait, hope, and pray. But here's the nice thing about knowing something that can't be true: You can have complete certainty with nothing to back it up. You've heard of blind, dumb luck. Well this is blind, dumb hope. Maybe call it faith?

But none of that matters because I know it's going to work out in the end. There's no proof, no evidence; no reasonable reason to believe that everything will be ok, but I believe anyway. Because this WILL work out in the end; everything WILL be ok.

I just know it.

All The... Small Things

I love telling the story of when I visited the Cincinnati Bengals training camp. It was two years ago. I was job shadowing the sports director at a local TV station. I was on the field, Chad Ochocinco was short, an orange mouthpiece almost became my souvenir, I was told to stalk a player for an interview, and many other really cool things that I'd love to tell you about later.

But honestly, the most memorable part of that day was a statement made by a cameraman whose name I don't really remember.

He was talking about all his years recording various sporting events, and offered one interesting insight about America's past time: "Baseball is the only sport where the ball doesn't score," he said. "If a batter hits a home run, what do you tape? The ball going out of the park or the batter crossing home plate?"

This was a tiny piece of knowledge that seemed irrelevant to my journalism career. Hellooooo. Writer.

But then I really thought about it. That realization that Mr. Cameraman (because I'm hardly on a first-name basis with him) had was one that could really only come from years of experience. Once you think about it, it becomes obvious. But to come up with the idea to say it- that takes something else.

I want to be that kind of journalist. I want to see the little things. I want to say things that make others stop and think. Part of that will only come with experience. But part of it will come with willingness and being ready.

One out of two isn't bad.

It's 3:30 In the Morning, I'm Not Coming Up With A Title

In sports, there's an unwritten rule that if an owner or general manager holds a press conference to say that the coach's job is not danger... it means that the coach's job is in danger.

Call it the vote of confidence.

This is a dangerous term in the sporting world. Because usually within a few games of the coach receiving said vote of confidence, he loses his job. I'm not really sure why this happens, but whenever an owner is forced to take the podium during the season, bad things happen.

I think trust is one of those things that shouldn't have to be asked for. The reason why owners have to step up and say that a coach's job isn't in trouble is because there are so many rumors that it is.

The trust should already be there. The owner shouldn't have to publicly state his trust. And as soon as that happens, you know you have a problem.

Purple Shirts, Congragulations, and Monster Trucks.

I've worked a lot of jobs in my days. Ok, maybe not a lot. But more than a couple. These jobs have ranged from sports writer, to media operator, information desk worker, sports writer (again) and more. But really, none of these jobs have required me to be in charge of anyone. Of course, I've had tasks and projects where I supervised, but none of my job descriptions really made me a leader.

That all will change in a big way this fall. In two weeks actually. The first leadership job I have is an NSO Leader. In short, this means I will guide college freshman during their first 48 hours on campus. I'll show them around school, give advice for their first year, and generally introduce them to college life.

On the surface, it may not sound like much. But I'll have a group of a dozen or more kids (some will probably even be older than me) whose start to their college experience is heavily influenced by how well I lead them. I'm freaking myself out just thinking about it.

Next up, I'm the sports editor at The Sojourn. A step up from the staff writer I was last year. In this position, I write a column every week, come up with the stories that will be published, and edit the ones that I have turned in by the writers, as well as help design the page itself.

Me? Edit stories? The guy who has to have spell check the word "ridiculous" almost every time I write it? That's, well... ridiculous. I have ideas and I'm very excited about this year at the newspaper, but that doesn't calm all of my nerves about stepping up into this position.

My third official job for this school year is the news and sports director at the radio station, 94.3 The Fortress. Being on air for the station is easily one of my favorite things to do, and I have confidence in myself that I can do it well. But this year, I will also be responsible for doing daily news updates.

I've already had a taste of what this job will be like, and I know I can do it. But when you throw all of these things together, that's how it will become interesting.

Here's the important part: I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will love all three of the jobs I am taking on for my sophomore year of college. And I love the people I will be working with as well. If this weren't the case, I wouldn't be able to do it all. But because I take joy in the things I do and the people I am with, it'll make dealing with the sleepless nights and long hours easier to deal with. I'm not saying it's going to be a walk in the park by any means, but I will love every minute of it.

Good, But Not Good Enough

In sports, all coaches want those players who will practice hard. The ones who work harder than anyone else. First-one-to-practice-last-one-to-leave kind of personality. And that's all well and good, but it's not enough.

Case in point: Ever heard of Kevin Kaesviharn?

No, you haven't. And you probably can't even pronounce his name right just by looking at it (CASE-VUH-HARN). This 34-year-old safety is probably selling real estate somewhere, hoping for a series of unfortunate events to strike the secondary of an unlucky NFL team.

After a pedestrian six-year career starting with the Cincinnati Bengals, Kaesviharn signed with the New Orleans Saints, where his stats really started to go south. Disappointing play led to fewer and fewer starts. His tenure with New Orleans was cut short by the team just two years into his four-year deal. One swan song season with the Titans later, and his career was all but over.

During his time with the Bengals, I followed this average player try to do above average things. Listed at 6'1" 200lbs, Kaesviharn only actually fit those measurements wearing long cleats and heavy pads.

He was as ordinary as professional football players get.

However he worked harder than everyone else, even the players who were more talented than him. Check that. Especially the players who were more talented. But working hard could only keep him in the league for so long. His untouchable work ethic only delayed the inevitable, allowed him to cling to his NFL life, make a living for almost a decade, and have some great stories to tell his grandchildren. Eventually the younger, faster, more talented players won out.

There's a moral to this story kids, and watch out- because it's not a happy one: You can work as hard as you want to; as hard as you can. But that's not always good enough.

I could work as hard I as I can to become an athlete, a musician; an artist. And if I put my entire heart and soul into it, I could probably be decent at the last two. But I'd never be great. The same goes for anything else. No matter how much you want something, you may not be good enough to get it.

This scares me, because I'm the type of person that just works hard at everything. I know I'm not the best at anything, so I've got to work harder than everyone else to keep up. I'm a poor man's Kevin Kaesviharn. What if my hard work alone isn't good enough in my jobs, relationships, and everyday life?

There are two ways to look at this. I could get depressed by this thought, or I could let it motivate me even more to avoid finding out sooner if my hard work will fail me.

I like the second option better.

Kevin Kaesviharn played a great career. One that he should be proud of. He shouldn't have amounted to anything. He shouldn't have played ten years in the NFL. But he did. And he did it because he made the best of his situation; he worked for it. Now look at him. He can proudly say he made 479 tackles in the National Football League. That's 479 more than you and I will ever get.

Someday, I hope to tell a story like his. I know it will take a lot of hard work, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes, and I have to be. I may never be anything special, but I'm going to make the best of whatever situation I find myself in.

Bigger Than My Stomach

It wouldn't be completely out of line to say that I had a sheltered childhood. Of course, growing up a homeschooler until age 16 can do that to you. The first year of public (or as I like to call it, "real") high school I fascinated/amused many of my peers with my lack of knowledge in various aspects of normal social topics. The first time I tried to open a carton of chocolate milk at lunch during junior year... well let's just say I had to get help. And it wasn't until finals week of my senior year that I saw the classic Disney movie "The Lion King." A fun fact that astounded my Sociology classmates.

The fun didn't stop there. Once I got to college, I met people from other parts of the country I had never been before. In case you're wondering, unless you're from Indiana, Ohio, Michigan, or Kentucky, I've never been to your home state. There were restaurants to visit (Applebee's, who knew?) more Disney movies to watch (I totally didn't see the end of Mulan coming) and swings to swing on. All for the first time.

There's certain chain of events that usually leads up to me trying one of these simple things for the first time. I'll be hanging out with friends, deciding what to do, and someone will suggest something that I've never done before. I'll casually mention that it would be my first time, and then instantly everyone goes into unshelter-Jeremy mode.

"What movie do you want to watch?"
"I don't care."
"Remember the Titans?"
"Never seen it."
"WHAT??? WE ARE SO WATCHING IT RIGHT NOW."

Or something like that.

Another instance like this happened a couple days ago. The target was a local Mexican restaurant that is very popular. Upon admitting I had never been there, guess what became the group's dinner destination.

But at dinner, I was not the one who proved himself to be the biggest noob at the table. After I mispronounced the word "fajita" in the most embarrassing way, that is.

After having to put a large portion of his meal in a to-go box, one person at the table commented that his 'eyes were bigger than his stomach.' One of the other people at the table questioned this phrase, as he had never heard it before.

Everyone at the table forgot about my articulation error. How had a college-aged student never heard such a common phrase?

Segue time.

I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach over the summer, in terms of the workload I took on for the fall. Three jobs and one class which will require me to be a contributor for the TV station. What the heck was I thinking? And that's not even including that I would like to have some resemblance of a life outside of work and school. I know I will greatly enjoy everything I do this semester, but doing it all at once will stretch me to my limits. I guess that's a good thing.

The important thing is to just keep having fun with everything I do. And be sure to make time for the people in my life who are important to me; myself as well. That way, I'll keep my eyes, stomach, and all other important organs their proper sizes.

And I totally knew how to pronounce "fajita."

Writer's Block

I started writing a story. And it was a good one too. I came up with the idea myself, with a little help from a friend. And after a lot of preparation for the story, I started writing it. Oh boy, did I ever write it. The words came to me so easily, more than ever before. I found myself sitting at my computer for hours and hours, churning out page after page, chapter after chapter. It was almost scary how easy it was. I've always loved writing, but this was new. I was never this excited for a story, it kept my interest for so long. The more I wrote, the more I wanted to write.

Everything was going smoothly. I knew I was going to finish the story, and it was going to be the best thing I'd ever written. The kinda thing that puts everything else I've penned to shame. But then things started slowing down. Words weren't coming to me as easily. I had to fight to come up with even a page. But I did it anyway, and it was worth it. Because I knew that with every page, I was one step closer to finishing the story of a lifetime.

Even with as hard as it was to write, I still loved the story because it was my own, and I had never written anything so special. But it became even more difficult to write, to the point where I would sometimes go days without typing a single word. "This isn't right," I told myself. "If this story is so amazing, then why is it so hard?"

Now, there had been times like this before, even during the early days of writing the story. But it had always still been easy. I just sat down and powered through the difficult pages, and I always made it through. It was still easy. This time was different though.

Which brings us to the present.

As I sit here, staring at hundreds of pages on my computer, I think about what it took to write them, and all the amazing times I had doing it. It's been weeks since I've written anything of value. The most I've done is type a couple pages, only to rip them up and throw them away. Now I wonder if I'll be able to finish the story at all. I want to. God knows, I want to. But it may not be possible. And I'm a little (a lot) scared if I don't. Because then maybe it was all for nothing. I don't want to lose this story because it means so much to me. But I know that I might.

Hopefully I'll be able to finish the story. All I can do now is just keep writing no matter what. Maybe I'll type myself into a corner, and write an ending that comes all too soon. But that fear is not going to stop me from trying. One way or another, I'm finding the end to this story. I may not like it, but I'm finishing what I started.

I just have to.

Decisions, decisions...

I'm a sportswriter. Let's get that out of the way to start with. But I struggle a lot with sticking to just one thing. I was hired on to write sports for my college's newspaper, but often drifted into the news section where some of my favorite (and most popular) articles came from. This year, I'm the sports editor on that same paper, but I have several ideas for non-sports stories. And a blog that was intended to be just about sports occasionally drifts into other, more serious conversations.

This is going to be a little of both.

As much as I love sports, I realize not to take them (or myself) too seriously. Believe me, I used to be that guy everyone hates. The one who eats, sleeps, and breathes sports. But not anymore. I still have that love, but I don't let it define who I am. And I'm a better journalist for it. Keeping a safe (but still close) distance has helped me to overcome biases which crept into my writing before. And now, I can enjoy sports more, because a football game doesn't seem like as much work when it's not everything you do. I can still be a fan.

Above all, using this blog as a personal journal as much as a public forum has helped return me to the reason I love writing; the reason I started in the first place: it's therapeutic to me; it calms my very soul. The first time I really sat down at a computer to write was in January of a very bad year. The Bengals and Broncos (my two favorite teams at the time) had both missed the playoffs by a game. But Denver suffered a far greater loss. Star cornerback Darrent Williams was shot to death outside a club on New Years. The Michigan Wolverines former head football coach Bo Schembechler passed away around the same time. So much stuff like this just kept piling on.

Looking back, I realize how small these "difficulties" were. I would give anything for my heaviest burdens to revolve around people I've never met. But at the time it really mattered. And writing about it was the best way I found to deal with it.

The problems have gotten worse over time; the burdens harder to bear. But I've never stopped writing, and I'm glad I haven't. Because when the going gets tough, I can always flip open my red laptop and start typing what's on my mind. My keyboard has never let me down. I can tell it everything. From the greatest dreams of my heart, to the worst fears of my mind, and even how I really think the Bengals will do this season.

I am, after all, still a sportswriter.

My Midnight Thoughts (in 512 characters or less)

Ok, my midnight thoughts are a little late today. Sue me. All you'll get from this broke college student is next week's laundry money.

Tonight, I have regret on the mind. Both my own personal regrets and the matter in general. I always tell myself not to worry about the past because I can't change it (no matter how hard I try), but here I go- worrying about mistakes I've made.

I think the only way to beat that is by living in a way that I won't regret later. Go all out. Because then I can say I tried.

My Midnight Thoughts (in 512 characters or less)

Here's the deal: It's midnight and I'm updating my blog from my phone, which has a 512 character limit. Now that you understand (and I only have 354 characters left), here we go.

I get excited easily. For those who are around me often, this excitement usually comes with a side of crazy. Right now, I'm excited to go back to my job as a writer, one that I've dreamed of for as long as I can remember. I'm glad it has me excited, because I know I'll enjoy it more. Now all I have to do is get my life in order.

The Write Time

It's a quarter after six o'clock... In. The. Morning. Given the choice, I would never be up this early. But a little thing called work draws me up and out of bed at 5 am occasionally, so I must cope. Today, I sit at a desk, scanning people into a building while it's still dark outside. But who knows? Someday I might have to get up this early for a job that's more in my field. And I might even have to write at such a time as this.

Oh boy.

Don't get me wrong. Writing is still one of my favorite things to do. But when it comes to this time of "mourning," I'm not even sure how interested I would be if the Rose Bowl was on. That's something I might have to work on in the future, as I'm well aware of journalism's frequent nontraditional office setting. At any given time, my office might be a locker room, a row of bleachers, a hotel room, or even an airplane.

I begrudgingly admit that this is a little unnerving to me. I've never been one to take a lot of risks or go outside my comfort zone. Being out on the road and traveling and is certainly out of my comfort zone, especially for someone who's never gone outside Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, and Michigan.Yet I'm still heading on a crash-course for a career that will almost certainly (and hopefully) take me all over the country, doing things I've never done before.

Is this not adding up for anyone else?

While I know that I've lived a rather boring life so far, I don't want to keep it that way. Getting out of my comfort zone may make me choke like LeBron James in the fourth quarter (as if there weren't enough of those), but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try. Because without taking the small risks that I have, I wouldn't even be at this point in my career. So maybe it's time I start stepping out and doing hard things. And hopefully, with great risk will come great reward.

Antics and All...

Randy Moss, the guy who started my career, has retired.

I slowly typed this sentence on the day that one of the greatest, most electrifying players in NFL history called it quits. It took me a while to realize it. I had gone all day just thinking about the career Moss had, the things he said; the things he did (almost more off the field than on it). But I never really remembered that it was Moss who helped pique my interest in sports journalism oh so many years ago.

I've never been bashful about telling the story. I was around 12 years old when I got my hands on an old copy of Sports Illustrated (a rare commodity in my house). For some reason, I couldn't put it down. I was never one to read much, but this was different- this was reading about sports. One article especially caught my attention.

"How Good Can Randy Moss Be?" was a multiple-page article in that issue by Michael Silver. It was about the controversially good player that was Randy Moss. One thing that really intrigued me was that the article, in essence, was about Silver writing the article. It delved into the interview process, how Moss spoke, what he said, and what he wanted to take back. Best of all, it gave fantastic insight into the type of person Moss was.

While I never was a big fan of his, I've always had respect for Randy Moss. For no other reason than if Michael Silver hadn't written that article about him, I might not have written every day afterward. I might not have gotten a job at my town's newspaper. I might not have worked for my college's newspaper as a freshman. I might not be the person I am today.

I'm not nearly as saddened by Moss' retirement as I am by the trading of Chad Ochocinco, but it was a nice reminder of how I got my humble start as a boy with a magazine, a pencil, and a spiral bound notebook. So today, I honor the career of Randy Moss, and I thank him for everything he's done. For the highlights, the antics, the fines, the catches, the celebrations, the trash talking, and everything that came with being one of the best the NFL has ever seen, and one of the most unique personalities as well.

If he hadn't have done those things then, I wouldn't be doing this right now.