From our Gastonia Correspondent

I have a confession to make, brothers and sisters. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me for my perfidy, and that we can move forward forevermore.

I am a man living in North Carolina, and I don’t give a fig about either NASCAR or college basketball. The thought of attending a NASCAR race makes me long for the thrilling carnival ride that is watching paint dry, and while I can appreciate the competitive spirit and rivalries of college basketball, I just wish someone would tackle the guy with the ball…just once.

Yes, I’m a football guy. I’m marrying a football girl. While we will over the course of the summer attend a few of the local minor league baseball team’s games, that’s mostly because they have a wicked good beer garden and my sons love trying to catch foul balls. The game itself largely leaves me faintly dazed, always waiting for a big play that rarely comes.
You might be like me, having to feign interest when your friends regale you with tales of double plays, passes on the inside, monster dunks or walk-off home runs while secretly wondering who the Texans have picked up in the free agent market (answer: nobody) or whether Tony Romo will return to playing (answer: thank God, no.).

There’s the NFL Draft coming up, then spring practices, then our long summer of discontent before things pick back up in August and September. Some of you might involve yourselves in outdoor activities. Some might dabble in the other sports just to have something to do while you drink beer. Some of you might even (shudder) start watching professional wrestling to get your fix of large men slamming into each other.

Me? I’ll be tending my garden, doing some fishing, taking road trips with my sons and researching new appetizer recipes for when the first ball is hiked again come fall.