Last week, I realized that I was coming down with something, but urine samples and plasma wouldn't reveal the illness that had me bedridden.
I took some time off to evaluate my situation and came out with something that possibly attacks most men from Coronado to El Rio.
I have an extreme case of the ESPNs.
That is right ÷ I love that channel.
I have ripped all the buttons off my remote control except the 2 and the 4, and I'm not that upset about it.
My friends can't even hang around (the Hornnnnnnnn) with me anymore because they think I'm too sportsy.
Well, BOO-yeah I am.
My best girl friend said I have affected her life in a way nobody ever has ÷ she can now differentiate between a birdie, a 3-point play and pocket aces ÷ all because of my obsession with the best monopoly business in the world.
It isn't just the fact that I like sports in general; that has always been the case.
I'll tune into the "worldwide leader in sports" to watch just about anything from Duke-North Carolina to Olympic button-sewing, all before Digger Phelps explains the pretension behind Grandma Jacob's double-knit technique!
The disease isn't just centered on my television; it has thrust itself into other huge inanimate objects.
My computer has espn.com as its home page, equipped with the latest version of ESPN Motion, just in case I didn't catch everything during the first five "SportsCenter"s of the day.
My car?
My navy blue Bullet doesn't just have XM Radio; it is finally tuned so ESPN Radio and ESPNEWS are presets one, two, three, four and five.
The doctor said if I start burning CDs with highlights on them, he might have to get me checked in.
On a personal note, is it just me or is everyone starting to think that Linda Cohn is HOTTTT?
Thankfully, it isn't a terminal disease.
My ninth molar in the back left side of my mouth still cringes when I hear Dickie V's voice, and I believe Andy North would make a better hat rack than golf