You
’ve already seen my name in this section for over a month
now.
You’ve already seen my name in this section for over a month now.
A time or two you’ve been subjected to my picture. A time or two you might’ve even read my articles.
But from what I gather, local knowledge of yours truly is rather limited.
So let me introduce myself as your new columnist.
Upon meeting me, many people say, “Oh wait, aren’t you the guy who lost to the 6 year old in golf?”
Now I know when you go through a traumatic experience you’re supposed to talk about it and stuff.
But the recurring nightmare seemed to come to life every time I was forced to describe it.
I have yet to recover.
Ah yes, then the wakeboarding story hit the presses.
All of a sudden I transformed from “that new guy who got schooled by someone 46 inches tall” to “that clumsy guy” on the wakboard.
What a tremendous upgrade that was.
Both, of course, are cold, hard facts. That part I can’t deny.
Perhaps, though, you’d like to know a little bit more about “that guy who is going to be in my sports section for the foreseeable future.”
So here’s a few answers to some of the questions you might have:
- I come to you from the great state of Tennessee – and you better believe I’m proud of it.
But no, I don’t like country music.
No, I don’t like NASCAR.
No, I don’t have an accent you can make fun of.
And no, I don’t hunt or live on a farm or have a crush on my cousin.
So let’s make sure that’s all clear.
- I graduated from my beloved University of Tennessee this past May.
Yes, we do have higher education in the South.
Yes, we love our college football.
Yes, I’m going to miss cheering on the Vols with 107,000 of my closest friends.
But no, I won’t blind you with all my orange clothing – unless you hail from Florida, Georgia or pretty much any state in the southeastern United States.
- I was born and raised in Memphis, the 18th largest city in America.
Unlike our twangy nemesis Nashville, my hometown is the real Music City – home of the blues and birthplace of rock n’ roll.
But no, I don’t have an ounce of musical talent.
No, I’ve never been to Graceland.
And no, I can’t do a good Elvis impression for you.
Forgive me.
- I hate the New York Yankees. Yes, it’s true my boss loves the Yankees.
Yes, you can send all hate mail concerning the Evil Empire to
sp****@mo*************.com
And yes, I’d be shocked if these four sentences actually get printed.
- I’m a lifelong fan of the Chicago Cubs.
No, I haven’t fully recovered from last year’s playoff meltdown.
No, I don’t need to hear anymore 1908 jokes.
And no, I won’t let my obvious bias affect my written opinion of the San Francisco Giants.
You’ll see nothing but the utmost form of professional journalism out of me.
Unless, of course, the improbable day comes when the two teams find themselves battling for, let’s say … the wild-card spot in the National League.
So anyway, I suppose that’s enough biographical information for now.
I’m sure more fun facts about my life will be interspersed throughout the year in this weekly column.
Please try to contain your excitement.
In the meantime, though, I’d honestly like to learn more about you, the reader.
As long as you’re not trying to sell me ink cartridges or Viagra, feel free to flood my mailbox with e-mails.
I want to know what interests the average sports fan in this area.
What do you care more about?
The NFL or high school football?
The Giants or the A’s?
College basketball or the Golden St. Warriors?
My goal for this column is to reflect what you’re talking about at the water cooler.
Or at the barber shop.
Or in the stands at the Little League game.
So let me know the sports pulse of this community.
Let me know what a newcomer might not otherwise know.
Let me know what I’m doing wrong and let me know what I’m doing right.
Good or bad, just let me know something.
If not, I’m afraid I’ll be left with no choice.
All Cubs. All Vols. All the time.
Need I say more?
Let the e-mails begin …
Brett Edgerton can be reached at
be*******@gi************.com
. He can also be phoned at (408) 842-1694 or relayed sign language at the Gilroy Dispatch office on 6400 Monterey St.