String together a couple of sentences like this - "Jeremy Guthrie is 1-1 in day games with a 4.50 ERA and 1-2 in night games with a 5.20 ERA" - and that's it, I'm out like I swigged a bottle of Robitussin.
I'm not big on a whole lot of game analysis, either. Let Mike Preston break down the intricacies of the Ravens' offensive line play or the cover-2 defense or who screwed up a zone blitz. He knows way more about it than I do, that's for sure.
No, what's always fascinated me most about sports are the people who play them.
How do they respond to challenges? How do they handle success or failure?
How do they stay sane in the increasingly insane and pressurized environment that has come to characterize all sports - even at the high school level?
I want to know how Dave Trembley can sit in the dugout night after night, serene as a Buddha, and watch the pitching blow up without his head exploding.
I want to know why Williams still sweats through his suits and can't manage a smile during a game after all his success with the Terps.
If super filly Rachel Alexandra wins the Preakness on Saturday, I want to know what jockey Calvin Borel was thinking during the whole glorious gallop around the track, with 100,000 people screaming into the evening air.
Here's the best thing about writing sports: The people who read you are passionate about the games they love.
And they don't hesitate to let you know what they think of your column - often in the colorful language of the Internet rant.
So I look forward to your calls and e-mails, even the ones that begin: "Hey moron, what are you thinking?" or "I picked up the daily fishwrap and turned to the vast, yawning gap that is your column, only to discover the usual turgid dissertation. Why don't you shut up and die?"
It's nice to be back in the game.
