My Passion Bucket Has a Leak

Rick Neuheisel’s got his bucket when he hit UCLA. Kobe Bryant’s is playing with a full bucket. Everyone else seems to have passion buckets that overflow. All this talk of passion has made me wonder--Do I have a hole in my passion bucket? Over the past few months, my sports viewing habits have shifted from enthusiastic fan to scoreboard watcher. In late summer, I found myself setting the DVR for every pre-season NFL game and tuning into the uphill drama that was the Colorado Rockies and Chicago Cubs. Now, I tune into the second half of the NFL playoff games and watch only if the score is close and would rather watch Rick Smits swat middle aged men’s jump shots on Pros vs. Joes instead of Syracuse vs. Georgetown.

For a while I thought that my passion bucket was frozen and could be attributed to the winter blah of the Northeast. I do have a passion for hot coffee, so maybe my passion bucket needs to be defrosted. Neuheisiel and Kobe are located in geographic areas where their passion buckets can sit at room temperature without moving into the third stage of a liquid. This theory was crippled last weekend as I watched the Giants vs. Packers playoff game in which the temperature was -2F and -26F with the wind chill. I don’t care who you are, that’s cold. Tom Coughlin’s face lost 3 layers of skin due a mix of wind burn and his internal hatred for his life and his team. But -26F can’t freeze a passion bucket. During the game 3 bikini clad cheese heads were willing to face the elements in a plea to keep Brett Farve because they had full passion buckets. (By the way, who knew people in Green Bay were in shape. I thought a diet of beer and brats made everyone look like Rick Majerus.)

This leaves me wondering, what’s wrong with my passion bucket? Maybe it’s the idea that sports have left me jaded and it’s supposed to be my release. Basketball is interesting, but March is really where all the action is. There is only one more football game, but like the college Bowl season, the wait in between games kills the momentum. Finally, around the corner is the game of summer. For me, the baseball season mirrors a college night at the bar. The night is full of possibilities and expectations are high. You walk in and see an attractive girl. Since you’re wearing your best shirt, fancy pants and hair product, there is a possibility that you have a shot. Drinks are purchased, the conversation is good and the night looks promising. As always, you operated under the National League philosophy of “Get them on, get'em over, and get'em home”. Then towards the end of the night, some asshole from NY or Boston comes in, flashes his bankroll, and the night is over with you looking from the outside in. Sure, there were a few bright spots, but when it's all said and done, you are watching some else close the deal while sitting at home on your couch.

What’s in your bucket?