This used to be my favorite sport to play. I played from 1985, when I was 9, through the 1995 season. The last two years I played here at Williams, in NCAA Division III. We were 15-0-1 with me on the team, but dropped a few heartbreakers without me.
To this day, even after my retirement, nothing makes me happier than picturing a blindside hit to the quarterback, and seeing snot fly from his nose. No matter how much glory a running back or quarterback may get, I would never want to play anywhere except the defensive front 7.
Now, if you want to talk about sports that I like to watch, that's a different story. Football's great to watch and all, but I'd much rather kick back on a lazy summer afternoon, listening to the Red Sox on the radio, or watching them on TV, or enjoying the best $2.50 hot dog in Kenmore Square. Whether the good guys win or lose, I'm there, and loving it.
But I love to do more than just watch and enjoy the subtleties of the game, I also love baseball history, as demonstrated by my Ty Cobb website. I simply love to read about baseball as it was played in the late-1800's and 1900's up until about the 1940's. That's when men were men and baseball was king of them all. My interest in baseball history prompted me to join the Society for American Baseball Research a few years back.
For a little more action and contact, there's hockey. Credit must go to
my friend Dave Rosenberg for really getting me hooked on hockey as a
spectator sport. We went to the Garden a bunch of times, and the best
was Game 1 of the 1994 playoffs against Montreal. We had third row
center ice tickets, and heard former coach Rick Bowness utter these words
when we asked him who he liked for the Stanley Cup: "Pittsburgh." Nice
try, coach.
In January 1996, my luck was fantabulous, as Williams College paid me to watch hockey games. I was a goal judge for the men's team, and I got one of the best seats in the house to watch every game. The only drawback was that the glass did not protect my face, and I had to duck more than once to avoid decapitation by the rising slapshot or deflection off the crossbar.