This column almost didn’t happen. I almost chickened out, lost my nerve. I almost was — gasp — a wump (my own neologism for a combination of wuss and wimp.) And I really don’t like wumps. But the thought of writing what will be my last column as an Assistant Sports Editor was starting to give me hives. Either that, or my nickel allergy is flaring up again. Either way, there is a really concerning rash starting to form on the back of my neck, and true to Sports Section tradition, I am going to blame it on The Sun.

I’m going to make a prediction here: while at the outset, this column may seem both verbose and vaguely pathetic, by the end I will both relate everything back to sports, and provide an uplifting ending. Don’t believe me? Keep reading.

Now, I know what all you devoted fans out there are thinking right now: did she just say this was the last edition of Sportsaholics Anonymous? No more ridiculous, rambling expressions of self-loathing and overwrought self-doubt, written at one in the morning under the influence of greasy cheesesteaks and diet Red Bull? It’s enough to make a full-grown Cornellian shout with joy. Never fear, however. For while this may be my last official ASE effort, I will return to my beloved Hill next semester, barring further disciplinary action by the JA of course. I shall persevere.

If you’ve learned anything about me by reading my columns, it’s that I am by no means a perfect person. I work hard, try to keep out of trouble, strive to be a stellar student and an even better friend — but it doesn’t always work out. I make mistakes, some bigger than others. Although I won’t bore you with an enumeration of my recent gaffes, I do think it’s more than a little appropriate that I lost my wallet at Madison Square Garden this past weekend. Now flip back in time to a column entitled "Ode to the Lovable Losers," from Nov. 5, 2008. Yes, in that fateful column almost a year from this date I detail a similar loss, albeit at CTP and not MSG. It's almost like I'm making it an official (tragic) tradition. (Wait, does that mean I can drink to it?)

But I would like to think that I’ve learned from most of them, or at least am in the process of learning from them. As Carrie Underwood sings in that new country hit “Lessons Learned:” “There’s mistakes that I have made, / Some chances I just threw away, / Some roads I never should have taken, / The past can’t be rewritten, / You get the life you’re given. / Oh, some pages turned, / Some bridges burned, / But there were lessons learned.”

Yes, lessons. Thank you, Carrie.

Speaking of Carrie, in the past the country singer has been linked to NFL quarterback Tony Romo (they are no longer together, thank goodness. He was such a distraction.) Romo plays for the Dallas Cowboys. Dallas is a city in Texas. So is Austin. Which is where my (fallen) idol Marion Jones now resides. And speaking of someone who knows a thing or too about lessons learned, Jones certainly has had a lot to atone for.

See how I did that? Amazing.

Anyway yes, Marion Jones has made a lot of mistakes in her life. And I’m not talking here about the “whoops, I left my wallet at a concession stand while buying overpriced french fries” kind of mistakes. Jones, once the most famous sprinter in the world let alone the United States, won five medals in the 2000 Summer Olympics — three golds and two bronze medals — a feat never before accomplished by a female athlete. And she did it all with a style and grace, not mention that 1,000 watt smile, that wowed fans and critics alike. She was America’s literal Golden Girl. And I loved her.

But Jones’ meteoric rise led to an even faster fall, after consistent rumors and allegations of steroid use (which Jones had for years steadfastly denied) finally culminated in her admission of guilt, officially of lying to federal agents, on Oct. 5, 2007 as part of the BALCO steroid scandal. Jones served six months in a Texas prison.

In a press conference on the steps of the courthouse following her October 5th guilty plea, a tearful Jones apologized, saying “... with a great amount of shame ... I stand before you and tell you that I have betrayed your trust ... and you have the right to be angry with me ... I have let my country down and I have let myself down.”

And now for that positive part I did promise was coming.

Bucking the trend of many disgraced athletes, Jones actually seems to have learned from her sordid past. There is no excuse for what she did. She cheated, and then she lied about it. She was a role model for millions of young girls just like me — and she knew that — but made the decision to inject herself with steroids anyway.

And yet, there’s a part of me that felt for her on the steps of that courthouse, as she apologized on national television. She did not need to do this; there was nothing for her to gain. Her career was over, she was going to jail, and the public has historically had very little patience for track and field cheaters. Anyone hear from ex-gold medalist and world champion Ben Johnson lately? How about former Fastest Men Tim Montgomery (with whom Jones has a child, not coincidentally) or Justin Gatlin? I didn’t think so.

Today Jones is married, living with her three children and husband Obadele Thompson in Texas. After her release form prison, Jones started a campaign she calls Take a Break, in which she visits schools, particularly in Texas and pleads with kids not to do what she did.

In an interview with FanHouse.com, Jones spoke unflinchingly of her past. “There isn’t a day I don’t reflect on some of the bad choices I made,” Jones said.

Originally a key part of UNC’s national champion basketball team, Jones is currently attempting a comeback of sorts — not in track and field, but with a WNBA tryout.

Now 34 years old, and far past her prime in “athletic years,” Jones has been steadily regaining her form in a church gymnasium in San Antonio.

And you know what, I support her. Yes, I’ve been burned by her before, badly so. And there’s a part of me that can never forgive her. But I also believe in second chances. To err is human, to forgive divine, right? For Marion’s sake, as well as my own, in this axiom I have to believe.