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September 3, 2003 Written by: Mike "White Mike"
Weippert MAYDOGMA.com “Insert
Sappy Title [Here]: White
Mikes’s Love of Football” You know, I was going to write about music this week, and bitch and moan about the various things that have lead to the dumbing down of American youth and how they are directly attributed to popular music (see VMA's). However, as the new football season is upon us, I felt that it was necessary to pay it some recognition. This is a time I love very much, and that can be attributed to the sport I love very much. It's almost cliché to speak of football as America's passion as opposed to baseball being our national pastime. But you know what; it's cliché for a reason: because in my eyes, football is in fact America's passion. To me football represents the soul, the very essence of America: a blue collar sport, for a blue collar people. A sport that rewards group achievement based on the sweat, blood, and tears of dedicated individuals. Is that not what this country was founded on? Maybe I am romanticizing the idea a little too much, but that’s because it is a very romantic way of looking at things. You know, it wasn't always all about football for me like it is now. I grew up an insane baseball fan (thanks Mom) and mixed it in with a little knowledge about other sports. Along the way I turned into an on-and-off hockey fan, a basketball fan (you can thank Jordan for that), and a casual (emphasis on casual) football fan. Come to think of it, I cannot even pinpoint the exact moment which I fell madly and deeply and forever in love with football. I guess it's like that girl that you're friends with and all of the sudden you realize that for some reason or another, you love her. There is nothing better than that. To think back, I can remember watching my beloved Notre Dame Fighting Irish on NBC in the fall because it was all I could watch growing up with out cable television. I can also recall watching the miserable Jets with Al Toon, Freeman McNeil, and Ken O'Brien. Soon I was glued to the TV every Saturday and Sunday afternoons teaching myself the game, as no one in my immediate family knew a thing about it. Football soon began to take over my existence. I grew to love Notre Dame so much, that when senior year of high school came, long after I had completely decorated my room with their merchandise, I did not even apply to the university because had I not been admitted I honestly believe that I would have been too heartbroken to go on. The Jets, well, they devastate me year after year but I'll be wearing my green and white until the day I die, wishing I was alive for Broadway Joe and Superbowl III. When high school came around, I decided that I wanted to play football. Like many of us, I wanted to live the dream, be the football star with the hot cheerleader girlfriend. Things never really turned out that way, but what I did get was one of the best experiences of my life. By no means was I a high school football star. I sure as hell wasn't going to beat you with my football skills, but I proudly say that I could give you hell with my toughness. Maybe it's the German in me, I don't know. Whatever it was, I wasn't born with the ridiculous physical tools that some kids were, but I busted my ass in practice every day, made sure I was in shape, and did what I had to do. I spent most of my time on the field as a member of the special teams units, which I am quite proud of. You know the old adage that special teams can make or break a game? Well it's true, and I never let that out of my mind when I was rushing down there trying to make a hit or throw a block. While I received no personal glory from the four years of grueling work and self sacrifice, in my mind I achieved the ultimate goal with a 41-30 win over those tough-as-nails boys from the Grand Concourse; Cardinal Hayes. What I miss most about those four years is getting up early on a Saturday morning, heading down to the locker room, adjusting all my equipment that had been battered around unmercifully all week, taping my sore and mangled wrists and hands, smearing eye black under my eyes, putting on the fresh jersey, saying a Hail Mary and an Our Father, filling myself with as much rage as I could muster up, and then charging down the field on the kickoff trying to unleash all of my frustrations on the sucker returning the ball, just hoping and praying to be able to lay a lick on him. My days in pads are long done, and maybe one day I'll grace a sideline with a headset on, but that remains to be seen. I do not attend a national powerhouse football school, nor do I have NFL season tickets. None of this changes the fact that football remains the truest love I've ever known. Football inspires people, makes people proud, crazy, excited, depressed, and the whole remaining gamut of emotions, and I truly believe there is nothing else in America that attracts people the way that football does. So as summer turns into fall, when in Any-suburb, USA, fathers are going out back to toss a tight spiral to their son, in Any-city, USA, kids are marking off the end zone with a fire hydrant, and in Any-farmtown, USA, a lonely boy is trying to juke a scarecrow out of its cleats, I felt that I should take some time out to commemorate America's passion. It's a beautiful time of year, and a beautiful game to celebrate. Wherever you are from, whether it is West Texas or the South Bronx, enjoy this time, this season, this game, for it is yours, and ours. Mike “White Mike” Weippert is the musical contributor to
MAYDOGMA.com, and is also the self-proclaimed God of Rap. His love for music, while intense, pales
in comparison to his love for football.
However, everyone and their mother already write about sports, so he
chose not to write about it regularly.
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