Brokeback Basketball Court

Maybe I have just have “Brokeback Mountain Fever,” but lately, I’ve been noticing that being a die-hard sports fan not only provides a great emotional outlet, but it also allows grown men to connect with their softer, more feminine side.

I have come to accept the fact that I have a CHMC on Cleveland Cavaliers star Lebron James. What’s even more revealing about this admission, is that I feel quite free to reveal exactly what CHMC means: Certified Heterosexual Man Crush. I am certainly not the only happily married man to be afflicted with CHMC. New York Yankees fans across the nation go ga-ga over Derek Jeter, and I imagine that even the brawniest of Chicago’s tough guys could be outed as having a CHMC for Michael Jordan.

In my case, what’s not to love about Lebron? For thirty years the Cavaliers languished somewhere between irrelevance and ineptitude. With the exception of a few token seasons, the Cavs have lingered near the bottom of the standings and even closer to the cellar in terms of national prominence. That was all of course, “BL”: Before Lebron. In comes this 18-year-old phenom, and the entire perception of the organization changes in a minute. They went from 17 wins the year before he arrived, to 35 wins his rookie season. They improved to 42 wins last year, and as of right now, they are on pace to have the second best record in the Eastern Conference. Not only is Lebron delivering victories, he’s delivering them in style. That’s a lot of delivering, which should NOT be confused with “Deliverance,” if you know what I mean.

I believe that a CHMC is brought about when a man recognizes his favorite traits in another man. Men like to say, “I bet that guy gets all the ladies.” That’s simply the homophobic way of admitting you think another guy is good-looking. So yes, I imagine Lebron gets all the ladies, which has always been a not so under-the-surface fantasy for most men. Would I like my body to be rippled with muscles? You bet. Check for Lebron. Would I like to posses otherworldly athletic ability? You bet. Check for Lebron. If I had said ability, would I like to exploit it while still being an unselfish player and making my teammates better? You bet. Check for Lebron. If I were rich and famous, would I like to keep my nose clean and my name out of the police blotter? You bet. Check for Lebron. Would I like to takeover my home arena? Inspire an entire city? Make opposing fans “ooh” and “ahh?” Check, check, check for Lebron. It doesn’t take a genius to decipher how my CHMC came about.

The great thing about sports is that having a CHMC isn’t a big deal. You can have one, and still avoid any harsh judgment. Try pulling that off at the office. Go up to a co-worker, and point to Bob in accounting and then say, “God, just look at the way Bob files those tax exemptions, he rocks my world.” Or next time the UPS man delivers a package, turn to your cubicle mate and say, “Did you see the muscles in his thighs when he bent over? That guy is RIPPED!” Go ahead, just try it.

While those antics might get you shunned at the workplace, I can happily exalt in my CHMC without reservation. I spend the majority of Cavs games cheering wildly, and exclaiming to my totally disinterested wife several times per game, “Did you see that? Did you see what he did? Isn’t he amazing?” Good thing she’s not the jealous type, although she has started referring to Lebron as my “boyfriend.” As in, “Is your boyfriend playing tonight?” Rather than get offended by the insinuation, I usually simply answer the question.

In the end, CHMC is probably a good thing. It allows me to acknowledge that yes, I sort of adore another man. In this case, a man seven years younger than me. When I was 21, I was pulling a C+ average at college, struggling up and down the basketball court in our intramural league. At 21, Lebron is making chubby 28-year-old white guys from Oklahoma adore him. Pretty big difference. I wonder if anyone at the YMCA has a CHMC on me?

In March, I will be making my first trip to see Lebron play a game in person. Perhaps I might even get lucky enough to catch a glimpse of my CHMC in the pre-game warm-ups, and dare I dream, maybe even get an autograph. My wife suggested that perhaps I should bring a box of chocolates for him. At first I laughed at her sarcasm, but then I got to thinking, Valentine’s Day is right around the corner.

Kobe is Coming....Whether You Like it or Not

There are three reasons the general public hates Kobe Bryant and refuses to admit that he is, indeed, the “next” Michael Jordan. Two of those reasons are bunk, the other is open for interpretation.

1. His Personality: Kobe grew up overseas. He speaks several languages. He is not charismatic. He does not have a public sense of humor. He doesn’t really appeal to any particular sub-group of NBA fans or media types. He is extremely serious. He is a bona fide basketball geek. No one seems to know him, understand him, or have a particularly close relationship with him—this would include his teammates.

While everyone has the right to form their own opinions based on what they know, many people have decided to base their opinion on Kobe Bryant on what they don’t know. They’ve judged a book by its cover. Just because we can’t seem to open the book doesn’t mean all of the pages are rotten.

2. The Break-Up of the Lakers: Shaq and Kobe couldn’t get along. One of them had to go. Shaq went. Kobe stayed. Therefore, Kobe has become public enemy number one, while the sins of Shaq and head coach Phil Jackson were swept under the rug.

What you had in Los Angeles was three COLOSSAL ego’s erupting at the same time. Shaq once insinuated that since he got hurt on “company time,” he should be able to recoup on “company time.” Just imagine if Kobe had uttered such selfish drivel? Shaq could do no wrong. Despite the fact that he had a similar falling out in Orlando with fellow star Penny Hardaway, and despite the fact that Shaq was CLEARLY regressing both in his play and work habits, Kobe was still the bulls eye on the target for the media. Shaq and Kobe should have been able to make it work. They both allowed a great thing to disintegrate. The key word there is both. Not even the great Zen master Jackson was able to put the pieces back together. Instead, he bolted and blasted Kobe in a tell-all book. Just one year later, Jackson returned to coach the Lakers, making himself look like the world’s biggest hypocrite in the process.

3. The “incident” in Colorado. At best, Kobe cheated on his wife. At worst, he committed sexual assault. No one outside of that hotel room will ever know the answer to what really took place that night. One thing is for sure: The accusation itself has damaged Kobe more than any other athlete’s transgressions in the recent past. Why? See reasons # 1 and # 2 above.

I am not an apologist. I do not respect what Kobe did, even if adultery was his only offense. What I do know is that other celebrities have been convicted of equally reprehensive or worse acts and have received much less public heat. Perhaps this is partially Kobe’s fault: He doesn’t seem to allow anyone inside his world, so why should he expect people to go to bat for him in a pinch? But it doesn’t seem right that Ray Lewis, who perjured himself and was implicated in a murder, can become the cover boy of the NFL, while Kobe Bryant can barely hold on to the smallest of endorsement deals.

When it comes to judging Kobe, hypocrisy abounds.

All of this overshadows what we should really be talking about: Kobe’s utter dominance as a basketball player. Despite the heckles wherever he goes, Kobe is turning in one of the greatest seasons in the history of sports. He has become an unstoppable force. His ridiculous 81-point effort on Sunday against Toronto put the cherry on the sundae for the first half of his glorious season. When Kobe rolled in those 81 points, many jeered him as a “ball hog.” When Jordan dropped 69 on the Cavs in 1990, he was hyped as the new torchbearer for the NBA. What many fail to realize is that the torch has been passed again—it’s just that the guy holding it isn’t exactly Mr. Popular.

Kobe is not only an unstoppable scoring machine; he has become one of the best defenders in the NBA. He is leading a rag-tag bunch of misfits into the western conference playoffs. Maybe Kobe needed Shaq to help him win those rings, but Shaq needed Kobe even more. It was a shame the Lakers management had to choose between the two, but they clearly made the right choice. You want a big funny guy who will sell tickets, plaster billboards, and thunder home dunks for the next two years at best? You take Shaq. You want a player who you can build another dynasty around for the next 10 years? You take Kobe. Why there was ever a debate is baffling.

I don’t particularly like Kobe Bryant. I find him snobbish and unapproachable. I don’t think I’d like to hang out with the guy. However, I really don’t know anything about the man. All I know is that he hasn’t been given a fair shake by the fans or the media, and in the process many are missing the blossoming of quite arguably the greatest player in the history of the NBA. Perhaps the comparisons to Jordan aren’t fair. After all, that would be putting limits on what Kobe can become. And right now, he seems limitless. Even if no one wants to admit it.

The End of the Beginning

It hits you like a ton of bricks. The end. When your team is miserable, the end of the season can be seen weeks in advance. When it arrives, it’s almost a relief. That ending is almost merciful. Washington Redskins fans know all about that. However, when your team is good and actually makes the playoffs, the end arrives suddenly. There is no time to prepare for the finality. One minute you’re thinking Super Bowl, the next minute you’re thinking training camp. The Redskins season came to a screeching halt on Saturday, marking a painful end to the season. But in the end, the only painful thing about their season was the fact that it ended.

I woke up on the morning of September 11th 2005 at the crack of dawn, unable to contain my energy or excitement about the first game of the Redskins season against the Bears. I was so anxious for Joe Gibbs and company to avenge their 6-10 record from 2004 and return my team to football prominence. The Redskins came through that day, and thus began a weekly cycle of anticipation, excitement, disappointment, and thrills. Even after suffering a difficult loss, it was always reassuring to know that we’d be back on the field the next week. For five months, the workweek seemed easier, the food tasted a bit better, and waking up on a Sunday morning was an event in itself. Now, it’s all over. September 2006, seems like a far off place. Despite the painfulness of the ending, the one thing Redskins fans should be feeling is thankfulness.

It was a glorious year in so many ways. Not only did the Redskins finally shake their jinx against the hated Dallas Cowboys, they single-handedly ruined their rival’s season by winning both meetings and then knocking them out of the playoffs by winning the final game of the year. The Redskins also reclaimed their home field advantage, going 6-2 at Fed Ex Field. Most importantly, head coach Joe Gibbs quieted his critics and kept the team together after a rough mid-season losing streak to finish 5-0 down the stretch, cementing his status as a coach that wins when it matters most. Simply making the playoffs was a fantastic accomplishment for this team, especially considering they played one of the top five most difficult schedules in the league. Going into Tampa Bay and winning a playoff game was icing on the cake, signifying that the late season run had not been a fluke.

The majority of the Redskins roster is filled with young players or players in the prime of their career. They have no significant players up for free agency. Their much-heralded defensive coordinator, Gregg Williams rebuffed overtures to become the head coach for other teams and signed an extension to stay with the Redskins. The team displayed incredibly character and chemistry this year and that continuity will be kept intact in the off-season. The Redskins can focus 100% on tweaking the roster to improve weaknesses, rather than worrying about filling gaping holes.

There are no guarantees in the NFL. Simply having a promising season this year does not automatically equal success the next year. No statistic bears this out more so than the fact that the past five Super Bowl losers all missed the playoffs the following year. Coming close doesn’t guarantee you squat. However, when a season is said and done there is generally one of two overriding feelings; the feeling of an opportunity missed or the feeling of the start of something good. For the 2005 Washington Redskins, this season certainly felt like the start of something good.

The Monday morning alarm stung more than usual this week. It was tough (and somewhat sad) to realize that there would be no Redskins game to look forward to this Sunday, or the week after, or for the next six months. But that feeling will soon fade. The great memories of 2005 will propel fans throughout the off-season, knowing the foundation has been laid for 2006 and beyond. Is it Labor Day yet?

Three's Company? Try Two

Great athletes are forever defined within the context of their greatest stage. Rarely do sports fans have the opportunity to witness the definition of three marquee players at once. That opportunity was afforded for all who watched the epic BCS Championship Game at the Rose Bowl last night.

Vince Young of Texas and Matt Leinart and Reggie Bush of USC entered the game amid accolades and awards. They entered the game amid wild speculation of what they were, and more importantly, what they will become. When it was over, and Texas emerged with a breathtaking 41-38 victory, two of those players had validated their past hype and generated excitement about their future, while the other may have been painfully exposed.

Leinart got off to a shaky start. He was knocked around, and seemed barely able to keep his team moving in the first half. Going into halftime, he appeared to be dazed and confused as some speculated whether or not he should even take the field in third quarter. Not only did he take the field, he took command. Leinart not only bounced back mentally, but he displayed the physical skills of his wildly successful predecessor at USC, Carson Palmer. Leinart did a marvelous job of looking off his receivers, baiting the Texas defense, and then delivering perfect strike after perfect strike to his talented corps of pass catchers. He led the Trojans to a 12 point lead with just over 6:00 minutes remaining. His place in college football history, and the upcoming NFL draft had been positively solidified. Only Superman could change the outcome of this game.

Enter Superman.

For the first three and a half quarters, Vince Young was dazzling and awe-inspiring. Over the last half quarter, he entered a different realm: Brilliance. He led his Longhorns down the field with cool confidence. He wore the USC defense down with his arm, and then ripped their hearts out with his legs. All the while he maintained a poise and confidence rarely seen of men of his age facing such a pressure-packed situation. He slowly melted the perception that he was simply the next Michael Vick: a highlight package minus the substance of real “winning” quarterback. While there may still be some lingering doubt about how Young’s skills will translate to the NFL, make no mistake about it: He is without peer. There is no mold to follow here. No comparison. He is an explosive combination of everything you desire in a leader. Facing 4th down with the hopes of the entire state of Texas on his shoulders, he calmly dashed his way into the end zone, and sports lore.

As much attention as Young and Leinart received entering this game, neither approached the media frenzy that awaited Heisman Trophy winner Reggie Bush. Several college football analysts went out of their way to hail Bush not only as the greatest running back in college football history, but possibly the best player in college football history. Unfortunately, their thought process was blurred with smoke and mirrors. While most are still most likely in denial, the mythology of Reggie Bush took a mighty blow in Pasadena.

Where is Reggie? That is the question that kept popping up throughout the game. Bush was having trouble getting into open space (where he is truly is a deadly weapon) and found himself watching from the sideline as his more bruising backfield mate, Lendale White, handled the brunt of the running duties. White was replacing Bush inside the red zone and on short yardage downs, begging the question-- how can you be the best player in the land, when your own coaching staff chooses to sit you during the most crucial moments of the game? When Bush did get the ball, he continually committed the cardinal sin of all running backs-- he kept running east and west, instead of north and south. He danced and darted and juked-- all to no avail. In the meantime, White plodded ahead and kept the chains moving for his team. Bush may have put on the greatest show of all time against Fresno State. But on Wednesday night, he wasn’t playing Fresno State. And Fresno isn’t even on the NFL map.

Bush is a super talent, and he could certainly be utilized effectively by a good coaching staff at the pro level. However, some of his greatest strengths will be neutralized in the NFL. In college, he was a superior punt and kick returner. In the NFL, starting running backs rarely play special teams as teams aim to protect their investment. In college, Reggie Bush was a demon in the open field. In the NFL, he will still be a demon in the open field, but the trick is that he’s going to have to find the open field first. Some may argue that Bush’s struggles were a product of a good game plan by Texas and the inherent rule in football that a running back simply can’t control the game in the same way that a quarterback can control the game. While this may be a valid argument, it also hammers home the point that both Leinart and Young are better prospects given their ability to control the outcome of a game. In the end, isn’t that what matters most?

Reggie Bush seems like a good guy. He graciously accepted the Heisman and provided college football fans around the world with an incredible array of eye-popping plays during his career. However, Bush has also been damaged by the potentially devastating media hype machine that has created a player that simply doesn’t exist. Not only is Bush not the greatest running back in college football history, he may not have even been the greatest running back on his team.
Bush may have won the battle on Heisman night, but Vince Young won the war at the Rose Bowl. NFL general managers should take notice: On the biggest stage, under the brightest lights, enduring the heaviest of burdens, Vince Young ran into the history books-- while Reggie Bush ran out of bounds.

New Year, Same Freak

At around 6:30 p.m. central standard time on New Year's Day 2006, my phone started ringing off the hook. I was fielding congratulatory calls from friends, family, and coworkers. Every time I would pick up the receiver, I would exhale a sigh of relief and gratefully accept the accolades coming my way. It wasn't a big surprise-- this is what normally occurs when you accomplish something out of the ordinary--especially when you pay the price to get there. These types of call may roll in after a job promotion, child berth, buying a new home-- or watching your football team clinch their first playoff berth since 1999.

No one that called me was surprised that I was drained and elated. What surprised them was my reaction to their question, "You must have enjoyed that, huh?" My response was as swift as it was decisive: "NO!"

There was nothing enjoyable about the day or the game itself. Nothing fun. Nothing exciting. Simply agonizing.

I woke up early Sunday morning, unable to sleep even though I'd stayed up celebrating the New Year with my wife and some friends at a local pub the night before. Knowing I still had over 7 hours until the Redskins-Eagles game kicked off, I tried to keep myself busy and distracted. I piddled around the house, watched a movie, and wrote some thank-you notes from Christmas. By the time my wife rolled out of bed (at a normal time considering the events of the night before) I was raring to go. So we hopped in the car and grabbed some lunch at one of our favorite little places near our house.

When we got home, I felt relaxed, ready to go. My wife asked, "You gonna be OK?" I aswered honestly, with only a hint of hesitation, "I think so." That was until I realized that the early games had just kicked off--- still three hours until our game even STARTED.

If playoff football was an annual right for the Redskins, I doubt I would have been so nervous. But since Joe Gibbs left following the 1992 season, the Redskins have only made the playoffs one time-- a token appearance in 1999. Now, in only Gibbs' second year back on the job, they had a chance to visit the promised land once again. They had come so far. After losing to San Diego in late November, the Redskins fell to 5-6, and faced a dire situation where they knew they needed to win their final five games in order to make it past New Year's Day. It didn't look good. Then, the Redskins won two games on the road in St. Louis and Arizona. Nice, but not exactly the greatest measuring stick. Dallas, New York, and Philadelphia, three teams that have dominated the Redskins for a decade lay in wait with no margain for error.

The Redskins blasted the rival Cowboys and then outlasted the hated Giants. One game left. One game to either validate the efforts of the season or once again leave the fans with the perverbial "what if's?" Philly was down out, bruised and battered, playing out the string. But you could be sure that they wanted to take the Redskins down with them. No matter the records, no matter the situation, I knew all week that this game would be a fight to the finish. Thus, my nerves prior to kickoff.

At 3:15, the game finally got underway. I had purchased a new Redskins T-shirt before the St. Louis game in an effort to shift our fortunes, and with the shirt's record sitting at 4-0, I figured I better go ahead and wear it once again. The shirt was in addition to my lucky Redskins socks, pajama pants, and hat. Even my wife played along for me-- wearing the same outfit (Redskins T-shirt and socks) that I'd forced her to wear the previous four weeks.

The game got off to a rocky start, and the agony of the day was underway. The Redskins breifly took a 7-3 lead which settled my stomach for a moment and gave me hope that maybe we could end it early. Thirty minutes later we were down 17-7, and I honestly felt my lunch bubbling up my throat. Not only was I seeing everything we worked for slip away, I was fully aware that our loss would most likely propel the Dallas Cowboys into OUR playoff spot. I could not get the mental image of thousands of despicable Cowboys fans around the world reveling in every false move we made. It was sickening. I didn't lose faith down by 10 points late in the first half, but I did start rationalzing the season and reminding myself to not freak out or pout all week (my wife deserves better). Hope was fading.

The commercials! The game was dragging along slowly enough as it was, but every time I thought my head was about to explode, here comes another commercial break. If only the delay in action delayed my agony-- but it only made it worse. By halftime, the Redskins had made it 17-10. I took a break on my back porch to call a fellow fan friend of mine and clear my head. We decided if the Redskins could tie it quickly in the second half, that we'd be just fine.

Sure enough, three minutes into the half, the Redskins tied the score at 17. I felt relieved. I felt that we had taken their best shot, and were still standing. Then, seemingly 10 seconds later, the Eagles kicked a field goal to take the lead 20-17. My relief was short-lived. Not only were we behind, but the time was ticking. Entering the fourth quarter, we were losing. Losing a game we had to win. Losing a game that would define every second I had spent watching the team for 17 weeks. Losing a game that I dreamed about since the schedule was released in March.

With about 12:00 minutes left in the game, the Redskins finally made a big play. An interception lead to a touchdown, and a 24-20 lead. I would have paid $1000 to somehow make the clock read 0:00 at that point. But I knew I still had over 10:00 game minutes of agony left. The Eagles had THREE more chances to win the game-- each more excruciating to watch. The first two ended without a score, but both times the Redskins were unable to put the game away. With just over 2:00 minutes left, the Eagles had the ball, and were driving down the field.

Then, we hit their quarterback and the ball came loose! I swear on my life that the football was bouncing on the ground for over an hour. If my TV screen has been a tad bigger, I would have jumped through and recovered it myself. Instead, at the last minute, we scooped it up, and ran the other way for the game-clinching touchdown. As we crossed the goaline and my brain went into full delerium mode, I screamed "We're going to the playoffs!! We're going to the playoffs!" I looked over at my wife, who had patiently sat through this entire fiasco, and she smiled at me-- a semi "I'm embarrassed for you," smile, but a smile nontheless.

A few minutes later it was official. 31-20 Redskins win. Playoff bound. A few minutes after that, the calls started coming in. And that's when I would explain the excruciating hours that had preceeded. I had NO fun watching that game. None. It was pure and utter agony.

So, the honest and obvious question becomes, "why do you do it?" Why put yourself through that when you openly admit you didn't enjoy it? My answer my be cloudy for some, but is as clear as day for me. My answer is simple: "The aftermath." As horrible as the day itself was, the feeling after the game was pure euphoria. We went out to dinner, and I was so happy that I couldn't stop giggling. My mood even rubbed off on my wife, and we both laughed and sang and exhaulted to and from dinner.

I woke up Monday morning with a spring in my step. I knew we had accomplished something big. We were relevant again. We were BACK! Even though I'm sure the nerves will kick up again on Saturday when we take the field against Tampa Bay, I feel secure in what the team has already accomplished and where they are headed. The playoffs were the goal-- the rest is gravy. The reward for the agony of New Year's Day is this week of excitement leading up to the game. The reward is knowing that Dallas fans across the universe got off to a bitter 2006. The reward is knowing that 20 other teams are envious of where we are right now. The reward is that I get bust out my lucky outfit at least one more time this year-- not so sure my wife would consider that a "reward," but that's not the point.

Without risk, there is no reward. I don't play, so I can't risk my body. I'm not part of the front office, so I can't risk my job or livlihood. As a fan, the only thing I can risk is my sanity. And I laid it on the line this past Sunday, and for the first time in a long time, I'm reaping the rewards. I hope their having fun in Dallas this week.




What I was doing One Year Ago Today:
1-3-05 (Monday):

Every morning, I usually wake up with something on my mind. Sometimes it’s the result from a game the day before. Sometimes it’s what I want for breakfast. Sometimes, it’s a nagging feeling of having to do something later that day. This morning, I woke up concerned about the comment Jennie made about me looking like Olivia Newton-John. It gnawed at me while I brushed me teeth, but faded as I sat down with a bowl of cereal. I decided to focus on something else for the day.

Even though I’ve yet to have any of my work published outside of a school newspaper or internet website, I do fancy myself a writer at heart. I’m not quite sure who’s writing style I most closely resemble. If I had to venture one guess, I’d say I’m fairly close to former Major League Baseball outfielder, Lenny Dykstra. Dykstra’s nickname was “Nails,” partly because of the way he played, and I think partly because of what was perceived to be between his ears. An eloquent man, Dykstra was not. But that didn’t stop him from writing a book. One of my all-time favorite quotes comes from Michael Lewis, author of the life-changing book, “Moneyball.” Of Dykstra he said, “Lenny doesn’t read books, he just writes them.” I’m much more Dykstra than I am Hemmingway.

Not being particularly well-read is certainly a weakness. I think. At least I think I’m supposed to think that. In any event, I’ve decided I need to read more often. Problem is, I don’t find the time to read, even though I have loads of it. I do read Sports Illustrated every week and about once a year something will possess me to read an actual book cover to cover, but for the most part, I’m a watcher, not a reader. I fill my free time either watching sports, piddling on the internet, or ironically, writing. Who has time for books when you’re too busy writing them? Now I understand Dykstra’s lament.

In an effort to appease both my mind and body, I’ve decided to start buying audio books. I started with “Moneyball,” which is much less a book about being the general manager of a baseball team, and much more a story of the power of outside-the-box thinking. I’ve found myself completely immersed in the story, and I’ve already spent several evenings sitting in the garage waiting for the perfect stopping point before turning off my car. I’m already on disc four of the five disc set and I look forward to each ride to and from work—I even try to find reasons to take the long way or run errands just so I can listen. I may have found the perfect antidote to my own laziness.
But in the end, the couch and the television will always win. So that’s where I found myself this evening, watching the Cavs beat the Bobcats. Lebron not only played, but he played brilliantly, leading Cleveland to an easy victory. After the game, I resisted the urge to celebrate with ice cream (I worked out this morning and ate well all day), and instead went for some yogurt. Not quite the same, but it will have to do for now. Then, I somehow fell asleep on Jennie’s lap. When I woke up, Jennie had slyly moved to the chair and I was left alone on the couch with Vinny. Jennie had a bit of a wry smile on her face as I emerged from my slumber, and I wasn’t quite sure why. It didn’t take long to figure it out. As I walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, I noticed in the reflection from the fridge that I was still wearing my headband. Of course, I’d been asleep, so my mountain of hair had been pushed to the top, creating a mushroom-cloud effect. My first thought? I’d be damned if I really didn’t look just like Olivia Newton John. Jennie wasn’t yanking my chain after all.