Guess Who's Back

It's been a while.

For two months I stopped writing and for two months everyone who doesn't read this blog kept not reading. It's roughly 5:30 a.m. right now where I am and regardless of what time the post will read, as blogger.com is clearly located somewhere in the western Aleutian Islands, it's friggin late right now. Yes, I'm staying up all night for Konichiwa Day, even though I hate the Red Sox as much as I hate the Tar Heels or the Patriots.

It's the first game of the Major League Baseball season. And considering that if the NBA and NHL were TV shows instead of professional sports leagues they would have been canceled after 13 games each, the hibernation period of winter is over.

I'm in the midst of my greatest sports year since pre-school. Seriously. In 1986, the Celtics, Mets and Giants were world champions. Duke basketball was in the national championship game and Notre Dame football was on the brink of a national title. If you, like any red-blooded American male should, have six favorite sports teams — MLB, NFL, NBA, NHL, college basketball, college football — and three win championships in the same year, it will probably never happen again.

Realizing that my peak as a sports fan happened at age 5, and further realizing that my only memory of those three titles is the image of Jesse Orosco throwing his glove in the air at the end of Game 7, I understand that those moments are few and far between.

Because of that, it's safe to say I enjoyed the Giants' win in Super Bowl 42 more than any other game in my lifetime. For one, I wasn't 5. But more importantly, I hated the other team. The undefeated, perfect team from a town I've grown to hate over the years (even though the Celtics will always be my No. 1 team of all; that's how f***ing annoying Red Sox and Patriots fans are). The Giants beat the crap out of the Pats. Every football analyst broke the game down into sections from the opening kickoff to Randy Moss not wanting to jump for that 60-yard bomb that would have made me punch/kick/break whatever was in front/next/near me. But for me, the play that's YouTubed in my head is when Jay Alford steamrolled into the backfield in the final minute and knocked Tom Brady into mid-air like Charlie Murphy had just kicked Rick James into the mirror on Chappelle's Show. It was great and it was perfect, but the greatness continued.

Within a week Duke beat North Carolina in Chapel Hill (clearly now not an omen of things to come) and the Mets signed Johan Santana. Think of a better week in your sports life. Does your favorite football team win the Super Bowl , your favorite baseball team trade for the best pitcher in the league and your favorite college basketball team beat their bitter, better rival on their home floor in 7 days? Probably not. But they did and they did and they did.

Is it all downhill from there? Of course it is. It's always downhill when you're at the top just like it's always uphill when you're at the bottom. That's why guys love sports.

Bad jobs get worse, bad relationships drive you insane and bad Chinese food can keep you within 10 feet of a bathroom for three days straight, but your team will get better.

That bad contract will expire, that horrible GM will get fired (unless you're a Knicks fan), your team will make the playoffs, the best free agent will sign with your team or you'll win the draft lottery. Good things always happen to loyal sports fans. It may take a long time and you may need six "favorite teams" for it to happen just once in your lifetime, but greatness in sports is cyclical. Your team will be good again. Time heals all sports wounds.

Just ask those all idiot Red Sox fans that are awake right now.