If you’re a part-time blogger, you’ve no doubt experienced the “blahs” before. Most of us in blog world don’t blog full-time. There are a lucky few who make enough money from blogging to do it full-time and to them I tip my hat. I am not one of those people. I’d love to be, but I’m not at the current moment. I have a full-time job and a 120+ mile a day commute (yes, 60 miles each way) and by the time I get home, my brain is usually mush. I can’t imagine how bloggers who have kids do this. You are superheros. I have an apartment and a fiance, both of which require a medium level of upkeep, but nothing outrageous.
But sometimes, as much as I love sports, I just don’t want to write about it any more. I want to write about my other interests, too: furniture refinishing, style, weather, muscle cars, art… the list goes on and on. But, I have pigeon-holed myself into only writing about sports here, because what else could you write about when your blog is called pro SPORTS chick?
Plus, as much as I love writing, typing into a form on my computer generally gives me a case of ‘meh’. I would rather talk to people. In person.
Twitter is almost easier – 140 characters. I can opine on whatever I want, and it doesn’t take forever. Maybe it’s a societal thing. I feel like I’m sick of being on the computer, but if I have to be on it, I’d rather communicate in short bursts, then be able to log off and have a life. Checking comments, dealing with the rude jerks, it used to excite me, and now it just doesn’t anymore; and that is a real bummer.
But, this happens to us all at some point. We get bored, and we need to find a way to get un-bored. Sometimes that takes time. If you’re running a blog that provides a good living, that comes a lot easier because there is a paycheck connected to every post. I suppose you could reason that if I posted more, I could make a living off of this too. But, sports is all about having the information first, and where I work a full-time job, I can’t just post every time a story breaks. I am almost always late to the game. That sucks.
I am not giving up on PSC. I just need time to re-evaluate and get things together.
So, I apologize for the dearth of posts lately, and hope you’ll stick with me through this all.
Twas the night before football, when all through the hallway
Not a creature was stirring, not even a ball-boy.
The playbooks were stacked by the entry with care,
In hopes that St. Belichick soon would be there.
The players were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of nickel defenses danced in their heads.
And Papa in his jersey, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for the season’s first snap.
When out on the turf I heard something go BAM!,
I sprang from the bed to be met with Michael Sam.
“Men shouldn’t fear ME”, he said with a sigh and a scowl,
“Lock the ladies up tonight, ‘cuz Gronk’ is on the prowl”.
The moon on the breast of the new-painted field
Gave the lustre of mid-season showing no yield.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a gigantic blimp, with Kaepernick at the rear!
With a little old driver, so sullen and chill,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Bill.
More rapid than the Eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Brady! now, Woodhead! now, Vinatieri and Bell!
On, Dalton! On, Megatron! on , McCoy and Kenbrell!
To the top of the stadium! to the top of the wall!
Now play away! Play away! Play away all!”
As the parking lots fill and the beer cans go dry,
The fans will lift their hopeful eyes to the sky.
So up to the 300-level the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of run routes, and St. Belichick too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
What sounded like salsa dancing – is that Victor Cruz?
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Bill came with a bound.
He was dressed in a cutoff hoodie, and had socks up to his calves,
And his eyes were filled with regret from Super Bowls past.
A bundle of contracts he had flung on his back,
And he looked like Wilfork, ready for a snack.
His eyes-how they glared! his dimples, how scary!
His playbook was missing – this was about to get hairy!
His droll little mouth was drawn into a smirk,
And the hair on his head was filled with parking lot dirt.
He was smart as a whip yet incredibly kind,
As thoughts of Rodgers and Brees occupied his mind.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he yelled, like a bowlful of jelly!
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his prose,
And filled all the playbooks, with Xs and Os.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the stadium he rose!
He sprang to his blimp, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Football to all, and to all a good-night!”
A poet, I am not. But this heartily expresses how excited I am for this NFL season. I thought about using Goodell instead of Belichick at the helm of all the players, but he would have flagged/fined them all and then we’d have nothing
underneath our trees on our TVs tomorrow ;
Helena Costa spent an hour talking about her landmark job as France’s first ever professional female coach for a male team Thursday but her message was simple and succinct.
“Look at me as a normal coach,” said the 36-year-old as she was unveiled by second-tier side Clermont Foot.
Costa is the first female to be given the head job in the top two divisions of one of Europe’s big five leagues — Spain, Germany, England, Italy and France.
Illinois eighth-grade twins Chloe and Claire Gruenke were competing in a state-level 800-meter dash when Chloe felt something pop in her leg.
Feeling an intense rush of pain, Chloe, who was ahead of her sister, fell to the ground. As Claire saw her sister collapse onto the track, and ran to her, picked her up piggy-back style and continued running the race.
As they neared the finish line, Claire lowered her sister onto the ground in front of her and helped her forward across the line. Claire made sure that her sister finished the race first.
Despite finishing the race in last place, these sisters are number one in our hearts.
Would you do this for your sibling? How about a complete stranger?
California Chrome, the underdog horse who won the 2014 Kentucky Derby, was upstaged on Saturday by Johnny Weir’s fabulous hat. Actually, if we are being honest, Johnny Weir’s entire ensemble upstaged everyone and everything at the Derby, most notably his adorable co-commentator and best friend Tara Lipinski.
Weir is the young, couture version of Liberace – and that is most definitely a compliment! I love that he has fun, and brings sass to a stodgy event with scores of women in the same old Lilly Pulitzer dresses and Stephen Jones hats. Bravo, Johnny. Keep dazzling my eyeballs.
Wow, guys. I’m pumped. Pro Sports Chick came in Second Place in the 2014 Best of Worcester Awards for Best Local Blog.
You guys rock! Thank you so very much for all of the support. I LOVE my city, and the amazing small businesses that are creating a renewal in this place I love so much.
I am honored to even be on this list with such amazing writers, businesses, chefs, craftspeople – the list goes on an on. What an honor!
So, thank you. I will continue to make this a fun, happy place for sports lovers of all genders/shapes/sizes/races/orientations and will also continue to show the love for Worcester.
Plus, I hear there’s a great party for these award things. I like parties.