There are certain quirky techniques and habits that have been steadily incorporated into athletes’ repertoires on and off the playing field that irritate me more than Dick Vitale’s oral gems. In general, these habits have been praised by the media but will lead many fanatics to spill their Tostitos in frustration and disgust.

Yesterday had to be the craziest, most hectic day I’ve experienced in a long while. I had an economics exam in the morning, but that barely fazed me. I had a pre-interview employer information session last night, but I hardly had time to prepare for that, let alone worry about the consequences.

In the food web of sports media, ESPN is something like a giant squid. There are networks that compete with The Worldwide Leader in Sports for big events, like the World Series and Super Bowl on Fox and the Master’s golf tournament on CBS. Those are like whale sharks to ESPN — way too big to engulf, but not really a threat. After all, ESPN provides hours of “secondhand coverage” of the Super Bowl — analysis, highlights and commentary — before and after the big game. Rather than struggling to digest these big-ticket events, ESPN nourishes itself by covering the more mundane, day-to-day sports happenings. Baseball pennant chases, athletes marrying Kardashians, T.O.’s weekly shenanigans — ESPN thrives by dramaticizing and adding value to these various goings-on.

It goes without saying that the sports industry is hard to get into. About as hard to get into as SAE’s white party as a freshman without connections. Or the Super Bowl if you’re the Detroit Lions. This goes for everyone, whether you aspire to be a superagent à la Scott Boras, handicapping guru like Brandon Lang (Two for the Money, anyone?) or simply the next Tom Brady (in which case your plight is twofold, if you want to marry someone at the same level as Gisele).

Heck, I am just now realizing that my ambition to be the next Erin Andrews (albeit minus the whole peephole video scandal) is very likely to encounter some roadblocks along the way. For one, I’m not blonde. Nor do I plan on going any blonder than my current highlights.

For those who didn’t know, I’m a homegrown Californian. Yes, I’m one of those exotic specimens from beyond the Rockies, where people surf to school, nerds are the kings of cool and of course it’s sunny all year round. Unluckily, I’m part of the “uncool” part of California. I call San Francisco home –– you know, the other big city in California? Yeah, the one with the hippies and a mayor with more sex scandals than Bill Clinton in his prime –– yes, that one.

I’m a Giants fan, which means that I’ve settled for the fact that my team is going to suck for 20 years, get my hopes up in October and then fail me once again. I’m one step above a Chicago Cubs fan, a torture that only the Devil could come up with.

Everyone loves surprises. There are tasty surprises — like my buddy Justin’s surprise birthday cheesecake Emily made on Saturday. There are pleasant surprises — like going on Blackboard and seeing that a homework assignment is due in 2 weeks, not 2 hours. And there are, of course, startling surprises — like Lady Gaga. Recently, I’ve been surprised by a lot of occurrences in the world of sports.

The WNBA playoffs are underway! I found that one out on Saturday night while waiting for SportsCenter’s Top 10 plays. I had no idea. Linda Cohn’s closing remark as she reported that the Fever and the Mercury would be matched up in the finals: “Good stuff.” Unfortunately there was no connection made between fevers and mercury thermometers.

And thus it is said, “that I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his suffering.”

And on this day, all shall feel the good grace of the AP and Coaches poll voters, and the blessings of that man whom He hath ordained, Bo Schembechler, and all fans of the holy dominion of the Big Ten shall embrace the resurrection.

For on this day, Michigan Football hath risen again.

For in truth, there was a time in which Buckeye and Wolverine stood at odds, fists clenched in animosity, a bitter hatred between natural enemies. Yet hear me brothers and sisters of the Big Ten! For on this day, I say fight no more! For while your blood-soaked rivalry raged, a new, common enemy, hath stolen your rightful place over college football.

Do you hate when you tell a friend or a “special friend” that you want to go watch the game, and they give you that face, or when you actually sit through the game and you just know they are completely bored out of their wits?

Well luckily for us sports fans, Hollywood has provided us with several feature-length productions that can bring a smile to anyone. Ensuing is a list of my top ten favorite sports movies.

During the past two decades, I spent an absurd amount of time worshipping the NFL. I operated dozens of fantasy football teams, bought the latest Madden videogame as a rite of fall and spent upwards of 200 Sundays parked in front of a television watching football. That all changed before last season when I decided that the NFL had become too fair.

Far, far, far above Cayuga’s waters there is a brick and wooden building known as the Africana Center. To get there you must first journey over the bridge connecting North Campus to the rest of the world, past the collection of freshman dorms, up past sorority houses, Jessup soccer fields and then, just when you think you must have gone too far, taken a wrong turn, something, you see the sign welcoming you to the Village of Cayuga Heights. Now go past that sign, and there, on your left, stands your destination.