The beginning...

or years I have had an identity crisis. I feel trapped in my own body. How can a Prairie raised, hockey playing, caucasian boy from small town Alberta become so infatuated with American sports? What went wrong at such a young age that caused the shift from sticks and pucks to hoops and cleats?

Well I cannot pinpoint the exact moment the transformation occurred, I can tell you that it was quick, painless, and permanent. I'll take you back to that fateful March evening in my house in Three Hills hanging out in the basement with my dad and brother.

On the television that night was the NCAA final four. As an athletic young boy I loved every sport, basketball included. Growing up in a small prairie town meant that I spent nearly every morning since the age of four going to the rink and playing hockey. I enjoyed this throughly but something about the early mornings, cold rinks, and inability to tie my skates by myself made me yearn for something else. Along came the Runnin' Rebels, Blue Devils, and Pizza Hut. How are all three of these connected? Let me explain.

Pizza Hut was a family favorite in the Reed house. Not only were the free refills on the pop, but they would have specials on constantly. Medium pizzas for 5$ (which we would pick up by the dozen it seemed), all you can eat specials, and a relaxed family atmosphere made it a prime night out for us country bumpkins. During the February month of 1990, Pizza Hut offered a free mini basketball with a visit to their restaurant. Since we frequented the North East Pizza Hut location regularly, it was no surprise when I wound up with one of these gems. This led to me becoming interested in the event going on south of the border called the Final Four. I immediately took a liking to the team with the atletes' on it: the UNLV Runnin' Rebels. With highflyers such as Larry Johnson, Anderson Hunt, Stacey Augmon and a coach who was a personality all his own (Jerry Tarkanian) I couldn't help but root for the guys from Las Vegas. Not only were they easy to cheer for, but their nemesis, the Duke Blue Devils, were equally easy to root against. I still remember emulating LJ as I dunked my Pizza Hut basketball into my clothes hamper for what seemed like an eternity.

So, as a 10 year old I was hooked on American sports. I loved College Bowls (namely the Rose Bowl with the parade!), NBA (the era of Michael Jordan becoming the alpha dog and dismantling anyone in his way), and college basketball. What I didn't foresee was the problem that would confront me as I grew older.

I love Canada and everything about living here but I love American sports. These two things seemingly do not go hand in hand. Ask anyone south of the border what sports Canadians love and they will probably respond with curling, hockey, ice fishing, and dog sledding. They would not think that a school teacher in Edmonton, AB would have the slightest interest in the BCS, expansion of the NCAA tournament, or the impending free agent class of 2010 in the NBA. Sadly, to follow these sports I must be an internet junkie, watching highlights online while TSN plays back hours of hockey analysis.

So, as a result of this plague that has stricken me and the conundrum I find myself in daily, I have decided to write about American sports from a Canadian perspective. If nobody ends up reading this at least I'll feel as though I am doing something incredibly therapeutic for the mess I find myself in. I gotta run and get back to watching grown men throw rocks down a sheet of ice.

Late