I never understood how college athletes could spend a year or two in college just to audition for the pros and then leave their university behind after the briefest of moments living the college life. Okay, I'll be the first to admit that the prospect of millions of dollars changes things quite a bit, but after completing my first year of college at Indiana Wesleyan University, I can't imagine leaving after four years, let alone one or two.
Forget writing. Now, I don't say that much, but I mean it here. Really, FORGET writing. Sure, that's part of what I've learned, but more than anything else, the most valuable thing that I've taken away from these past few months is how much I've grown as a person. It's not something that I can explain or show on a test, but it's changed me for the better, and I know I am more prepared for the real world (whatever that is).
But my favorite part has been the people. I have met so many friends that have changed my life, and made it so much more interesting. I've almost learned as much from the people I've met here at IWU as the classes I've taken.
So in three years, when I'm getting ready to walk down that aisle for the final time, a little part of me will wish my time wasn't over yet. But at least I'll have been able to enjoy more than just a year of this amazing experience.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
The Best Laid Plans
Friday was supposed to be a great day. And in its own unique way, it was. But it was supposed to be a special day. Again, Friday found its own way to be special too, but it wasn’t anything like what I had in mind. I was supposed to wake up early, with no classes on the menu, and take care of the last of the homework I have for my final semester of freshman year. Then, I was supposed to take a car ride back to my home city of Cincinnati to rest for a couple days. My body had other ideas.
When I woke up, I could tell something wasn’t right, but I tried to go about my morning routine as routinely as I could. It took all of two minutes to figure out that wasn’t going to happen. A quick glance in the mirror showed that my uvula had swollen up at least three times its normal size and I was choking on it.
Awesome.
A 9-1-1 call, trip to the hospital, and shot of steroids later, and I began to feel better. But I had kissed my productivity goodbye. Homework wasn’t the only thing I wanted to do that day. No, I had planned on doing something much bigger. Something I had extremely high hopes for: my 100th blog post.
It was supposed to be one of the better things I had ever written. No one else would have cared (or even known) that it was my 100th post, but I would have, so I wanted it to be good. I wanted it to be special.
But when I sat down to write number 100 on a cold, rainy Sunday night in Cincinnati, four hours away from the college campus that I now call my home, I realized that this was more fitting. It was supposed to be a long, flashy piece of writing that I would pridefully look at and declare as my own. I had dreams of people reading, reposting, and sharing—just like I do with all of my posts. Only better.
But that wasn’t very realistic, now was it? That’s not how it ever happens to me. That’s not how it happens in the real world.
I think even with all my efforts to be as much of a realist as possible, I have some sort of journalistic fantasy concocted in my head. One that doesn’t take the hard work and the years of paying my dues that I know it will to get to the top. In my head I think I have this delusion that someday, the right person will stumble upon my blog and send me straight to Sports Illustrated.
Who am I kidding? Who was I to expect some sort of… fanfare with this? When I found out I was hired as the news and sports director of my college’s radio station, there was no applause, no press conference, my name didn’t trend on Twitter, I just accepted it and got ready to work. When I received the email that I was the new sports editor of the school newspaper, I high-fived my best friend and then went back to work. I don’t deserve any recognition yet, why should I even dream about it?
So you know what? I’m glad that things didn’t go the way they were supposed to. Because they rarely ever do. So for this run-of-the-mill 18 year-old college sports writer, quietly hitting the post button on my 100th blog entry and not worrying about what happens later is exactly what I needed.
When I woke up, I could tell something wasn’t right, but I tried to go about my morning routine as routinely as I could. It took all of two minutes to figure out that wasn’t going to happen. A quick glance in the mirror showed that my uvula had swollen up at least three times its normal size and I was choking on it.
Awesome.
A 9-1-1 call, trip to the hospital, and shot of steroids later, and I began to feel better. But I had kissed my productivity goodbye. Homework wasn’t the only thing I wanted to do that day. No, I had planned on doing something much bigger. Something I had extremely high hopes for: my 100th blog post.
It was supposed to be one of the better things I had ever written. No one else would have cared (or even known) that it was my 100th post, but I would have, so I wanted it to be good. I wanted it to be special.
But when I sat down to write number 100 on a cold, rainy Sunday night in Cincinnati, four hours away from the college campus that I now call my home, I realized that this was more fitting. It was supposed to be a long, flashy piece of writing that I would pridefully look at and declare as my own. I had dreams of people reading, reposting, and sharing—just like I do with all of my posts. Only better.
But that wasn’t very realistic, now was it? That’s not how it ever happens to me. That’s not how it happens in the real world.
I think even with all my efforts to be as much of a realist as possible, I have some sort of journalistic fantasy concocted in my head. One that doesn’t take the hard work and the years of paying my dues that I know it will to get to the top. In my head I think I have this delusion that someday, the right person will stumble upon my blog and send me straight to Sports Illustrated.
Who am I kidding? Who was I to expect some sort of… fanfare with this? When I found out I was hired as the news and sports director of my college’s radio station, there was no applause, no press conference, my name didn’t trend on Twitter, I just accepted it and got ready to work. When I received the email that I was the new sports editor of the school newspaper, I high-fived my best friend and then went back to work. I don’t deserve any recognition yet, why should I even dream about it?
So you know what? I’m glad that things didn’t go the way they were supposed to. Because they rarely ever do. So for this run-of-the-mill 18 year-old college sports writer, quietly hitting the post button on my 100th blog entry and not worrying about what happens later is exactly what I needed.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Invisible
One of com professors (*ahem* one of my FAVORITE com professors) just said that good writing was invisible. He compared writing to the screws and joints that hold a building together. You don't notice them, and you certainly don't talk about them, but they're still there, and they're needed to hold everything together.
My first thought, as a writer, was where does that leave me?
Sure, maybe some of my motivations for asking this are a bit selfish. I mean, I'm the writer, I don't want my creations to go unnoticed. I want people to pour over every word I type, and drool over my adverb choices. I want the kids who tormented me in high school to show their remorse by praising my hard news inverted pyramid.
I just want people to know my name.
But is this the best way to go? Probably not. I should be writing to tell a story, not to get glory for myself. And hopefully, if I do things the right way, for the right reasons, that other stuff will come later.
My first thought, as a writer, was where does that leave me?
Sure, maybe some of my motivations for asking this are a bit selfish. I mean, I'm the writer, I don't want my creations to go unnoticed. I want people to pour over every word I type, and drool over my adverb choices. I want the kids who tormented me in high school to show their remorse by praising my hard news inverted pyramid.
I just want people to know my name.
But is this the best way to go? Probably not. I should be writing to tell a story, not to get glory for myself. And hopefully, if I do things the right way, for the right reasons, that other stuff will come later.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Seriously
I've never called for violent rioting in the streets before, and I'm not doing so now, but this is as close as I hope to ever get.
I think that people just assume there will be an NFL season in 2011, and that might not be the case. Ever since the negotiations started, people thought things would magically get better. Even when the CBA expired, things had to work out, right? And now, when it doesn't look good at all, there still hasn't been a massive, national freak out.
Why the heck not?
When will it finally set in that in February, we might have seen the last of pro football for more than a year? When will people start writing letters and picketing stadiums and sending threatening emails to the commissioner? What will it take to show people that neither the NFL nor the Player's Union is messing around. This is a real lockout; one that doesn't appear to be ending anytime soon.
The fans have the real power here, it's time we stepped up and used it.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Be aware of three things as you finish reading this post and get ready to click off the page.
First, I was totally kidding about the rioting and the threatening letters. Violence is never the answer. Unless, of course, the question is "What is never the answer?" Then, and only then, is the answer violence.
Second, I am fully aware that as soon as I post this, the NFL and the Player's Union will come to an agreement. Just my luck.
Thirdly, I have a lot more good stuff on here. Go check it out now.
I think that people just assume there will be an NFL season in 2011, and that might not be the case. Ever since the negotiations started, people thought things would magically get better. Even when the CBA expired, things had to work out, right? And now, when it doesn't look good at all, there still hasn't been a massive, national freak out.
Why the heck not?
When will it finally set in that in February, we might have seen the last of pro football for more than a year? When will people start writing letters and picketing stadiums and sending threatening emails to the commissioner? What will it take to show people that neither the NFL nor the Player's Union is messing around. This is a real lockout; one that doesn't appear to be ending anytime soon.
The fans have the real power here, it's time we stepped up and used it.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Be aware of three things as you finish reading this post and get ready to click off the page.
First, I was totally kidding about the rioting and the threatening letters. Violence is never the answer. Unless, of course, the question is "What is never the answer?" Then, and only then, is the answer violence.
Second, I am fully aware that as soon as I post this, the NFL and the Player's Union will come to an agreement. Just my luck.
Thirdly, I have a lot more good stuff on here. Go check it out now.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Remember This:
Just a few more days in the semester everybody. Come on, we got this.
We can do it.
YOU can do it.
We can do it.
YOU can do it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)