Isn’t it strange how obsessed some people become with sports? To these people, just watching a baseball game is a full-contact event; whenever a team does something good, it’s time to jump up off the couch and pump one’s fists in the air, hooting and hollering like one of those annoying monkeys at an otherwise quiet zoo.

I should know. I’m one of those people. I don’t know how I got to that point, but somewhere along the way, sports became more important than other issues.

“Hey Dylan, check it out,” my dad said Sunday afternoon. “That ship captain was rescued by the military!”

I was genuinely interested, don’t get me wrong, and I was happy for the safety of Captain Rich and the victory for the American military over ruthless pirates.

But come on, the St. Louis Cardinals were going to be on.

I gathered all the facts of the story as quickly as I could: How it all went down, how many pirates had been killed and whether the captain was in good condition.

I even began brainstorming how I would approach the issue in Monday’s editorial cartoon. But I really wanted to watch the Cardinals game, even though it wasn’t for another 15 minutes. This is a problem. I know the Cardinals aren’t more important than a U.S. captain rescued from pirates, but something in me was so antsy, I wanted the minutes to fly by so I could watch Albert Pujols work over the Astros again (he didn’t, but that’s beside the point).

As I sit here typing this, I’m growing more enlightened and gaining better insight into my own psyche.

And it hits me. I now know why I’m so obsessed with sports. When I was young, that was how I bonded with other male members of my family. My uncle and cousin turned me into a Cardinals fan. My dad and I would review baseball stats, and he would teach me the terminology, such as “games back” or “left on base.” We’re still mystified by the infield fly rule. When my family moved just outside Springfield with cornfields surrounding me, the only friends I knew on that county road were Miami Dolphins fans, though their motivation for being such is still beyond me.

Eager to make friends, in first grade I became a Dolphins fan and followed one of the most storied franchises in the NFL, from the glory years with Dan Marino, to the downfall culminating in the 2007 season, and the return to prominence in the 2008 season. My dad and I would travel to St. Louis for Cardinals games, or Indianapolis to watch the Dolphins take on the Colts in Peyton Manning’s early years. Not long ago, we went to St. Louis to see the Pittsburgh Steelers take on the Rams, sitting three rows up from the goal line. It’s one of the greatest memories I have with my dad.

In summation, sports remind me of a time when I had all the time in the world to spend with those closest to me. Now, my cousin is working in Bloomington and raising his son. I’m finding it hard to watch ball games with my dad when I’m two hours away. But when I turn on a ball game, it takes me back to the time when life was simple, and the memories of spending time with my family come flooding back.

Dylan Polk is a senior journalism major. He can be reached at 581-7942 or at DENopinions@gmail.com.