This One Goes Out to My Grandfather.....

I've often wondered why in the hell I'm so obsessed by sport.

I sit on the toilet and think about Penn State's prospects in the Jan. 1 Rose Bowl.

On the way to work, I'll read about recruiting in college football or politics in New York in the mid-'70s.

At work, I'll wax lyrical about the fortunes of the Pittsburgh Steelers to an office that's got one Falcons fan on the floor and tens of others who couldn't give a rat's ass.

After work, I'll talk to my friends about the world of football and about how "the people's game" has put their fans in the poor house.

And my wife? Just ask her about my love of the games. Her Sunday nights are taken up with me watching NASCAR/NFL/baseball/golf. Thank God, she's still with me. Suzy Ferguson, you deserve a freakin' star. And I know—you don't like sports either.

You see, my mother and my father have never been great fans of sport. While there's me, who really, really cares about it, they really, really couldn't.

My father's parents couldn't have given two hoots about the game either.

But my mother's father—my grandfather—loved it.

He didn't really have an allegiance to a side. Although he was English (with a little bit of Dutch thrown in for good measure), he loved the way the French played rugby. Every time I get into a 'rugby conversation' with someone, I'll talk about how wonderfully the French play. My rugby skill OFF the pitch matches my rugby skill ON the pitch...almost nil.

It's after talking my grandfather—who played college level rugby for Cambridge University before a neck injury stopped his progress—that I get this. He loved the World Cup and the Six Nations as much as the next person—and would tell you in great detail about the way certain teams were playing.  

When living in Canada, he got his only son involved in ice hockey. Sure, my uncle probably didn't think about it again, but apparently, he played. My mother's appreciation for the game came and went during the Winter Olympics in 2002 when Canada won the Olympic Gold.

But he sure loved the slopes. My mother probably hasn't missed a year's skiing since her days on the slopes in cold Quebec. Sure, she bounces a bit less quickly than she did a few decades ago, but the elegance—taught by my grandparents—still lives there.

He also showed me how to love football/soccer from a tactical standpoint. I still remember the 1989 FA Cup Final between Everton and Liverpool, when he insisted on stopping the game to show me a great move leading to a great goal.

As a former engineer, he was passionate about showing me not only the end result but how it was put together. Christ, if we could get more of those on ESPN, we might be more knowledgeable sports fans instead of thinking that just because Terrell Owens has caught a few balls in his time it doesn't make him a Hall of Famer.

The reason why I'm writing about this is because my grandfather died today. He loved sports—almost as much as me.

This article's for you, Grandpa.