Theres Always Next Year

I'm getting over it I guess, some of the bitterness has gone. I mean I can live without Seinfeld, but I'm sick and tired of the 49ers getting canceled every year. Especially by those "cheddar-headed" inbreeds from Wisconsin. I'm tell'n ya if I hear one more word about "The Frozen Tundra" I won't be held responsible-----okay, I'm alright, just--okay . . .

The topic of my article today is the "Loyal Latter Day Diehard Sportsfan". You know who you are--and to a greater or lesser extent the basic premise is this: If a person has ever played a sport for any Utah team, (High School, College, or Pro) and at any time made us proud to be from Utah--no matter what they do for the rest of their life, they'll always have a "Beehive State"-full of unconditional love.

By way of illustration, the "Latter Day Diehard" (though he may never admit this to a soul), secretly roots his guts out for Ty Detmer and Scott Mitchell. And wants them to win no matter how much he knows in his heart that they kinda suck--and they may never make it past the first round of the playoffs.

Scott . . . Ty--it doesn't matter. We love ya. Go ahead, throw a sad little floater that gets picked off for a touchdown--so what if we lose the big game--that we may have had a small wager on. Forget about it. We'll be waiting here for ya next year, with a big ole handcart full-o-love. Go golfing, go ahead. God bless ya.

It's this very "State" of affairs that makes watching Steve Young and the boys get bounced from the playoffs such a jagged little pill to swallow. But on the other hand, even a Rabid Diehard like myself would've had a tough time rooting against Elway. We're nothing if not emotional. But next year Brother--it's Steve's turn.

Because, there exists a Latter-Day-Diehard "Godhead"--and seated way up there beside Stockton and Malone is "Prince Steve". He's heir to the throne, Utah's great great grandson, SuperMormon. Pray with me good citizens of Zion . . . that he's not gay. "SACRILEGE! BLASPHEMY!", you exclaim! Maybe, but if you take an unbiased look at the evidence--it's enough to give you pause.

1) San Francisco? 2) Never been married? 3) San Francisco?
4) We all know where his hands have been--all those snaps (hut one hut two)? Maybe a fella could be drawn off-sides. Relax, it's a joke, and not a particularly funny one at that. But it would be the worst thing to happen to Utah since polygamy, or since they outlawed polygamy--whichever is least offensive? Are you still reading? Not if you're gay I bet. You're not are you?

Don't be offended, I'm a good sport about gayness--I don't care--whatever tosses your salad. I think the worst part about being gay would just be having to call yourself that word--gay. Whose decision was that? Did they cross "Happy" off the list? "Cheerful"? "Merry"? Could we have possibly witnessed throngs of people parading through the streets of San Francisco in support of "Silly" Rights? Could rumors have sounded like, "Hey did you hear about Daryl? He's Pleasant. Pleasant as a 3 dollar bill--saw him at gay-hour in a "happy" bar.

But I digress, don't I. The "true" mettle of a Latter Day Diehard is tested when that individual seeks out a life beyond the borders of our fair state. Perhaps nothing requires more raw courage and naked faith than to belly up to the bar in some blue collar steel-town and openly root for Shawn Bradley. It was bad enough when it was just Danny Ainge.

At first I think we all figured old "Ichobod Bradley" would be the official state Pariah for skipping B.Y.U for the quick cash of the N.B.A. But even he's been forgiven. You just can't sustain a decent grudge against anybody who's that much of a feckless carnival attraction. Besides the more I watch him play, I realize how wise he was to make as much money as possible before he snaps in two.

Probably the brightest spot of the year for us salty ole Diehards, has been the play of Keith Van "the Man" Horn. Can I get an amen. Damn straight I can. If he was playing like this in a Jazz uniform we'd have no use for Heaven. Which brings me to the Jazz. I've resided outside the state for much of my adult life, but you're not going to find a more fatal Jazz fan. I've been around since "feeding the post" meant feeding "Gentle Ben Poquette". I've paid my dues.

Believe me I know that to be a jazz fan is to know heartache and disappointment--but that's all the murmuring you'll get out of me. I love em. If they win, I win. If they lose, I lose it. And as the years pass I cherish the Jazz more and more--they're a class act. And if nothing else the Jazz represent eternal hope. Each new season is like teeing a golf ball up on the next hole--everything behind you falls away and it's all about boundless possibilities. "Go get 'em Tigers" .