To play in a game, the team must show up. To cover the big pretty thing, the press must too. Hence, I sit in Salt Lake City, waiting for a connection, admiring the soft-dropping snow. I am wearing a really old, tattered hat that can barely boast its original orange. Still, strangers stop me in line at Starbucks and ask me when we play, as if my hulk still could keep outside contain.
That’s what happens when you carry old football muscle and still retain slight shimmers of the youth that once bristled in my skin. People ass(u)me. But no, I am not a player, just a stage hand taking notes and writing reviews.
I am trying to cope with the difference in intensity this second time around.
I have that, “I’ve been here before” mentality Coach Petersen was talking about yesterday. I know the schedule. I know the routine. But this time around I am on my own, not in league with The Arbiter staff (although I will be podcasting again, much to my delight). I must be a grown-up here, now and take care of my own. I am really gracious to all who follow along.
