You say, "You play ball like a girl!" I say, "Thank you."

I always knew I wasn’t like other little girls. It never bothered me, or seemed strange. I never longed to be like the pretty little girls in dresses with their hair done just right. I never wanted to watch “My Little Pony” or “Care Bares”. I never pretended to be a princess or a damsel in distress. I didn’t pine for a Malibu Barbie or a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Nope. Not this little mongrel. I wore Michigan State sweatshirts and my Oshkosh B’Gosh overalls with holes in the knees. I would come home from a day full of mischief with my long, stringy, blonde hair knotted, dirty and going every which way. The hair tie my mother so hopefully put in would, inevitably, be so tangled in my dishwater mane it would have to be cut out. I watched Batman (of the Michael Keaton variety) and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels repeatedly. I pretended to be Vicki Vale and would walk around with my reporter’s notepad trying to dig up the truth about the viciously corrupt Gotham City that was my family’s ten acres of land. I longed to play with my big brother’s brand new Nintendo. Usually, while he played Nintendo, I would settle for stealing his Gameboy and hiding in my mom’s largest suitcase with a flashlight in order to play Tetris unseen and therefore, un-punched. I think I’ve painted my picture.

It all started with Michigan State football. My family bleeds green and white. I’m a State fan through and through. It’s not something I chose to be it is something I was born to be. The thing is, if you are born a Michigan State football fan with it comes some serious resentment towards your parents. To this day I ask my mother, “Why? Why did you do this to me? It’s a lifetime of heartache, upset and pain.” I fully blame this for my fear of commitment. Why would I want a relationship? Why would I want to worry about throwing a shoe at a boyfriend after he forgets my birthday for the second year in a row when I have four months out of the year where I throw it at my 47 inch plasma after we get flagged ten for yet another holding penalty? My holy matrimony to Michigan State gives me enough angst, yelling and sadness for a lifetime, thank you very much.

Little did I know, Michigan State football was just the beginning. At about three years old I started going to my older brother’s hockey tournaments and baseball games. At six, I attended my first girl’s college basketball game with my dad and become completely enthralled with the sport. (More on that life changing event another time) Then two younger brothers were added into the equation. So there I was three brothers, a football crazy mother, and a state championship athlete of a father. Did I have any other choice? If I did, I’m glad I didn’t make it.

Then tonight, while watching the Spartan basketball team beat THEMSELVES for the third game in a row, I decided I needed an outlet. My girlfriends don’t give two shits about my in-depth game analysis, and the more I talk to guys about sports the more they forget I’m a girl and put me in the “friend zone”. Not that I am worried about being in the “friend zone” for dating purposes but for the pure fact that guys then start to think it’s ok to give me a wicked Charlie horse in the thigh. Hey, I may be a tough-ass tomboy but I bruise like a peach.

Don’t worry; I won’t just be talking Michigan State here. I will be covering all my favorite highlights of what’s going on in sports. (We’re talking the real sports here people, I don’t do soccer.) I could be bitching about what quarter back is seriously overrated (that’s you Tony Romo and Tim Tebow) or praising the gods amongst mere mortals (that’s you Lebron).

What it comes down to is this: I wanted to find a way to combine two of my favorite things, and since it’s too hard to play basketball and drink Jameson at the same time, I figured I would settle for writing about sports. ..