But how does that explain sitting on a couch by yourself and watching a baseball game on ESPN in mid-May? Or arguing with a friend over who the best NFL quarterback of all-time is?
For some reason, the world of sports is lodged deep within the consciousness of our society. Some people dislike sports, of course -- those are the ones who don't turn to the sports pages, considering sport to be just a collection of silly games or ridiculous displays of macho showmanship.
There's got to be something more to it than that. True, a great deal of sport appeals to the children within us. For a lot of people -- including me -- the boundaries of childhood are defined by sporting events. Innumerable times in these pages I've mentioned my horrendous history as a member of organized sports teams, including the pee-wee baseball team that won two games while losing 46 in the span of four years.
You can't play losing baseball for four years of such a young life without having some sort of impact. I often wonder just how much of the person I am now springs from those sort of events.
Going with that same losing team to my first major league baseball team.
Hiding behind the piano in my living room, hearing my father argue on the phone with my seventh grade basketball coach after the coach had pulled our team out of a tournament game because he had "other plans" for his Saturday. Knowing my father's argument centered on the fact that the team deserved to play, even though a lot of the players -- including me -- weren't any good.
Losing moments defined a good part of my childhood. But the friendship and teamwork forged in the fires of searing losses -- Twain Harte Elementary 82, Columbia Elementary 2 -- were also part of that childhood.
Sports link us together. They give fans a common pool of knowledge. Somehow, it's reassuring to know that the people around you know about Babe Ruth's 714 home runs. They've seen, in person or on television, Joe Montana read a defense and throw a touchdown pass. They've watched Michael Jordan soar over seven-footers on his way to a slam dunk.
They remember Kirk Gibson hitting that ball out of Dodger Stadium in 1988. They remember Dwight Clark making "the catch" in 1981. They remember Magic Johnson's three-pointer at the end of the 1992 NBA All-Star Game.
I suppose it's that hypnotic hold that sports have over me that had made me able to come up with 26 of these sports columns in my time here. Sure, a lot of the time what I've had to say is only obliquely concerned with sports. But the sporting world is a common starting point. And from that point, I can explain to you my frustration about some sort of injustice -- or try to make you laugh by making fun of the ridiculous nature of some sports figures.
So while I could have addressed issues in the more serious world of mainstream opinion, in some ways it's better to have discussed them through sports. It's one thing to say that AIDS is a horrible disease, that people need to be careful so they don't get it and/or spread it, and that everybody is at risk from it. It's quite another to talk about Magic Johnson -- he's family.
It's been said too many times, but only because it's true: sports are like life. There are winners and losers, but nothing lasts forever. The winners come and go. Those who are on top one day will be at the bottom soon after. When you think you're at your peak, everything can end in an instant.
Sports are a force that ties us together. There are no secret handshakes in the fraternity of sports fans -- just knowledge. And once you're in, it's hard to get back out again.
I, for one, wouldn't want to leave. Win or lose, a big chunk of my life does involve sports, and there's nothing I'd do to change that.
Just as my personal athletic career was molded by being on losing teams, my life as a fan involved rooting for the lowly San Francisco Giants and horrific California Golden Bears football team. In 1987 and 1989, the Giants actually became winners. This year, the Cal Bears won a New Year's Day bowl game.
In some ways, I miss the old days. But like I said, nobody stays on top for long. Next year I'll be at graduate school in Berkeley, pulling for the Giants and Bears all over again -- for the first time in a long time, in person. No doubt they'll start losing again. I won't mind much.
So as I leave UCSD, there will be no good-byes, no secret handshakes. I can hope that you'll remember some of what I've said -- perhaps you'll never think of Bocce Ball or Mike Tyson or monkeys the same way again. I know that what I've seen here won't soon rub off -- any sports prediction will conjure up memories of Prime Picks, and I'll undoubtedly continue to use the word "Yikes" in everyday conversation.
We'll be in different places, but we'll all still be cheering during the same games. We'll cringe at the antics of folks like Don King, Dick Vitale and Dan Henning. We'll clap for home runs and boo the shortstop who kicked the easy grounder.
And -- most importantly -- we'll all still be fans.
I'll see you around the ballpark.