How Being a Sportswriter Made Me a Better Person

Accidents will happen.

Apologies to Elvis aside, and leaving the free will/predestination discussion for another time, becoming a sportswriter was an accident.

My internal editor interrupts:

"Uh, you may want to change the reference to Elvis."

My ego replies:

"Why?" (egos can be stubborn)

"You may offend people who like Elvis."

"How can I offend people who like Elvis if I'm already apologizing to Elvis?" (egos can be contrary)

"When people say 'Elvis,' they do not usually think of 'Elvis Costello.' Which is the reference in this case."

"I think of Elvis Costello when someone says 'Elvis.' "(egos can be self-centered)

"But you're weird and not normal."

"*&^%$#@!)" (egos sometimes don't take criticism well)

"Not everyone appreciates the continual musical references you make."

"I throw in movie references to mix it up sometimes," (egos can be defensive)

"Why can't you just say that becoming a sportswriter was accidental?"

"Then you get into that whole 'everything has a purpose' discussion." (egos can cleverly deflect criticism through misdirection)

"Whatever..."

"Stop saying that, it (insert word here you can't say on TV) me off!"(egos can be touchy)

Sorry about that, folks, these discussions can go on all day. It's why I don't accomplish much some days.

Before I was a sportswriter, I was a fan. 'Fan' is short for 'Fanatic.' I was both.

Whenever my favorite team (The Vikings) was on TV, my family would leave the room, then the house and finally, they would leave town.

I yelled when things did not go well for the Vikings. In the 1970s, things would go well for the Vikings until the playoffs. The joke was "I think we're good enough this year to lose another Super Bowl."

The crowning moment of my fandom came during a NFC championship game against the Cowboys. Vikings fans know where this is going.

The Cowboys have the ball near midfield with time running out. Roger Staubach goes back to pass, Drew Pearson shoves Nate Wright out of bounds, catches the pass, scores and the Cowboys win.

"THAT WAS OFFENSIVE PASS INTERFERENCE!"

"HE SHOVED HIM!"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU MISSED THAT CALL!"

Glass was starting to break in the kitchen. My family had moved to another state.

It gets uglier. Fran Tarkenton, who wanted to get to another Super Bowl to prove once again what a chump he was in big games, walked out on the field and yelled at the official who failed to make the call.

A fan in the stands threw a bottle, hitting the ref in the head. As the blood poured, fans cheered.

It was ugly.

I wasn't old enough to be ashamed of my behaviour. I was just mad that the Vikings had lost.

My internal editor starts laughing.

"Reminds me of dialogue from an 'Archer' episode."

"Huh?"

"At this point in your life, you would have a gotten an 'Unsatisfactory' grade."

"No, at worst, 'Needs Improvement.'"

Every once in awhile my editor and ego are on the same page.

NEXT: How I Got Better