I come before, you, unwitting readers of the Tribune sports section, to confess a grave sin.

It's not the kind of sin you see a grown man confess to often in this era of over-accentuated manliness. It's a sin that detracts from the already tenuous popular image of my masculinity. Worse yet, a sin that makes me look like a "sissy."

So grievous is this sin, this blight on the face of the Marquette community, that it has so far warranted two paragraphs of distracting copy, a host of guilty thoughts and feelings, and perhaps one or two friendships during my career here.

My sin? I have never been to a single Marquette University athletic sporting event.

No basketball. No track and field. No soccer. Not even, horror of horrors, curling. My treachery to Marquette is so great. I have never even been to a single club sport event.

But wait! Before the angry mobs are assembled, before the torches are lit and the pitchforks raised to the sky, let me first tell you how I intend to repair my treachery to the university that will soon become my alma "you never call me" mater.

The shadowy sports desk editors determined that in the coming weeks I would undergo a process of penance and reprogramming for my disloyalty. I was summarily sentenced to go to as many collegiate sporting events sponsored by Marquette as humanly possible. Random blood tests will ensure that I bleed blue and gold at all times. Additionally, I will be strapped to a chair and forced to watch hours of Marquette sports in desolate, godforsaken parts of the country (I'm looking at you, Louisville) while Beethoven's Ninth Symphony plays in the background. By the time my reprogramming is complete, I will be unable to relate to anything but the inanimate objects used in the assorted sporting events of our time, and the obscure mathematical principles that govern collegiate sports statistics.

You, the Marquette fans, are the only hope. Thrill me, entertain me, make noise, be boisterous and merry, and I may survive this winter of enduring despair and live through to the glorious day when I find out exactly what it is about curling that makes it worth the admission that people pay.

Without you, it's just people dressing alike and sweating in unison.

These and other unlikely reasons aside, my main reason for this column is to write a love letter to the Marquette sports fans who (I can only imagine), time after time, sit through freezing cold evenings to watch their favorite sports sex-idols/relatives/friends slug it out on the court/field/pitch/pool/rink. You have to be out there somewhere.

What else is a professional hockey fan going to do with his spare time?

This article appeared in The Marquette Tribune on Jan. 25 2005.,”Brian O'Connor”

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