The First Day of the Rest of My Life

"I know you see me on the video, (True) I know you heard me on the radio, (True) but you still don't pay me no attention, listenin' to what your girlfriends mention, 'he's a slut, he's a ho, he's a freak, got a different girl everyday of the week.' It's cool, not tryin' to put a rush on you. I had to let you know that I've got a crush on you." -Notorious B.I.G.

The Premiership. I endured its courtship for quite some time, but as we've all learned from Superbad, even the hot chicks go for weird dudes with enough determination. Unfortunately even while my hormones raged, as can be the case with many potentially successful relationships that never get off the ground, the timing just wasn't right. Most notably, soccer's regrettable homosexual stigma(not that there's anything wrong with that) was preventing me from really opening up to the "World's Game." For much of my pre-adult life, I ate lots of bananas (I really don't get enough potassium in my diet), I could frequently be caught listening to Craig David CDs by myself, and one of my guy friends insisted on being called Kiki (sorry Cope, the truth is out). My man points weren't quite high enough to publicly pick up a sport noted for its lack of manliness on this side of the pond.

Over the past year something happened that finally gave me the opportunity to give in and declare my support for a British soccer club. First, DC had one of its better sports seasons. The Skins made the playoffs in an epic, emotional run. The Wiz made the playoffs... again. The Caps made an improbable late season run to win the Southeast Division. I've never had so many beers spilled on my head in celebration and been happy about it. In reality, I've never poured so many beers on my head, period, but I digress. It was terrific watching my teams finally all make things interesting in the post-season.

While this was happening, my official soccer team, Celtic, was in the midst of an epic run of their own. Celtic came from behind against their rival in the Scottish Premier League to win their 40th League Title. Sadly, Scottish soccer games get 0 coverage anywhere but Scotland, so while history was being made, I was left to sit around in my green and white striped jersey and read game recaps.

I wish I had the life experience to explain how frustrating that is to my mother when I was 12 watching sports past my bed time with her yelling "who cares? Just read it in the newspaper in the morning!" Having to hear secondhand, or watch on Sportscenter, about how your favorite team is getting huge win after huge win is a little like having your significant other slip you a roofie, and use and abuse you in ways only appropriate for the maturest of audiences while you're catching some Zs.

You: Whoa... I'm naked. What happened here?
Fellow Cheek Bumper: I did some unreal stuff to you last night. It was AWESOME. Sorry you were blacked out.

You: Are you kidding me??

FCB: Oh don't worry, I taped it.

As in this analogy, clearly this is not a habit to be tolerated, unless you're the one that's awake, in which case... Get It!!! But back to our friends on the wrong side of that sexual escapade, and myself as a fan of a non-televised sports team. Similar to the realization made as you wake up with a few used condoms on the bedside table next to you with no legitimate explanation to how they got there, it was time try to make some memories.

After a month long period of deliberation, I decided upon Liverpool. The Reds. Anfield. 18 League Titles. 5 Champions League Titles. Feels like a good fit. Between this decision, and Jason Taylor, this could be the best sports year since 91-92. Your year will come Philly. Wait, probably not.