Hi, my name is Lindol, and I am a sportsaholic.  It's been 15 minutes since my last fix.  It was an Oregon Duck basketball game, possibly my favorite of them all.  We (I graduated from the U of O in 2001, kind of by accident, but that's a story for another time) beat UCLA at home.  If there is one thing I love more than a victory for one of my teams, its a victory for one of my teams over a team from Los Angeles. BEAT LA.   I am a die hard Oregon football fan, I almost cried when "we" got smoked in Boise the first game of the season this year.  I couldn't bear to watch the end, so I saved myself the misery of watching the Legarrette Blount meltdown live.  Of course, I couldn't avoid the replays. I live and die for Oregon sports, but thats not my only poison. . . not by a long shot.  Heck, I drove from Menlo Park to El Paso to see Stanford play in the Sun Bowl over New Years, and I'm not even a Stanford fan. I never miss a Niners game. One of my very first memories (not just of sports, but of anything at all) is of "The Catch" Montana to Clark, NFC Championship game at the Stick.  January, 1982. I was three and a half. I don't actually remember the play, but I distinctly remember my parents raucous reaction to it.  It totally disrupted my game of "Hungry, Hungry Hippo".  I must admit I lost some of my fervor from ages 4 to 6, being more focused on, I don't know, eating grass and legos (building with them, not eating them. . . . well. . . .sometimes eating them.) I can, however,  vividly recall Super Bowl XIX.  Thanks to football I knew my latin numerals all the way up to L years before being taught them at school. That day was cake.  The Niners played in Super Bowl 19 against the hated Miami Dolphins. Dan the Duck (my dads nickname for Marino, owing to the way he waddled around in the pocket) and the Marks Brothers (Duper and Clayton)  got their butts handed to them by Joe Cool and the boys, right in my backyard.  I grew up 2 miles from Stanford Stadium.  When they released thousands of helium balloons during the presume show, I could see them floating away from my front yard.  I think thats when the obsession began in earnest.  I also am a huge Giants fan.  HummmmmmBaby! I probably watch or listen to 150 S.F. Giants games a year.   I camped out on the streets of San Francisco to get Giants playoff tickets in 2002.  Damn you, Dusty Baker, its all your fault! Who gives out a game ball in the 7th inning?  Honestly? JT shoulda let your kid get trucked. I even love the Golden State Warriors but, good lord, there is only so much punishment one man can take. The point is I love sports, maybe as much as I love taco trucks. And I frigging LOVE taco trucks. 

      Being that I am such a rabid sports fan, I tend to spend an inordinate amount of time in sports bars.  Actually, one particular sports bar.  I'm fairly monogamous when it comes to sports bars, I don't really like to play the field.  I find a place that suits my needs (close to home, has all the games, plentiful TVs, strong drinks, convivial atmosphere, preferably a bit divey) and treats me well (takes requests, amiable service, turns the sound on, a drink on the house every so often), and Im like a penguin. . . I mate for life, or at least until I leave town, or they do.  I used to get my mail sent to The Old Pro in downtown Palo Alto.  Many a night I'd help them bring chairs in from the back patio when last call had come and went.  The drinks are more expensive than I'd like, but  the hands are heavy and the waitresses suffer from selective memory loss. When I went to school in Washington DC, Babe's Sports Bar  (may she rest in peace) was the only one for me.  5 dollar pitchers and 25 cent wings, all weekend long.   I happened to be there during football season, and there is a lot to be said for football in the Eastern Time Zone, at least for the 18 to 25 age bracket.  On Saturdays, the games start at noon, and run till 1:30 AM.  I could wake up from the previous evenings shenanigans at 11:30AM and be comfortably posted in front of one of their plentiful big screens by 11:55.  More than one Saturday I ate all three meals there. My Duck games would often not start until 10:30 at night.  One such game, against Arizona State, went to to double overtime.  They stayed open till 2:20 AM so that we were able to watch the end (We won 56-55 after being down 2 scores with 4 minutes left. Joey Harringtons coming out party.) .  I was back the next day at 12:55 for the first NFL games.  "Babes" had numerous other perks such as Golden Tee, several pool tables, and a great jukebox (which, unfortunately, featured "Who Let the Dogs Out?"  It was the year 2000, and not a day went by where it wasn't played at least once.  Sometimes, after particularly stellar Oregon victory, I'd run around screaming "Who Let The Ducks Out? Quack, Quack, Quack, Quack Quack!  Im not proud of it, but the fact that they didn't forcibly remove me from the bar that instant speaks to how well I was treated there-in).  Man, I loved that place. It's astonishing that I was able to get any work done at all that semester.

      After arriving in Sacramento and getting settled, one of the first things on my agenda is finding a new sports bar that I can call my own.  To have and to hold, in sickness, and in health, for as long as we both shall live (in Sacramento).  And I am happy to report, that I've met someone, and I think she could be the one. (hope,hope, hope, crossing fingers and toes)  The lucky lady? "Cheaters" on Folsom.  I was introduced to her by a friend of a friend (yelp) who was sure we'd hit it off.  Boy was she right.  I went there on Saturday afternoon for the aforementioned Duck game against UCLA.  I'd received phone confirmation that they had the game. They have all the packages except for hockey, and I can live with that.  Although Im a Shark fan, I really don't watch hockey until playoff time.  Unless its an Olympic year, cause how awesome was that tournament, especially the gold medal game? I even got Jess to watch, and she was soon nearly as into it as I was.  I called my mom to tell her to turn it on and she answered the phone with "are you watching?"  Olympic hockey is phenomenal.  It must be, my mom and my girlfriend were both enthralled by it, and the last thing I'd call either of them as a "sports fan".  But I digress, I was headed into "Cheaters" when I noticed a thrift store next door. Being a thrift store aficionado, I popped in for a moment, to give it a once over.  I noticed a Tee Shirt  clearance rack to my right, and was amazed to see a bright yellow Oregon Duck shirt at the front of it. It was about a half size too small, which is to say it fit perfectly.  I coughed up the buck oh nine and headed next door with my new purchase in hand, feeling quite good about the way my day was going. 

      I walked in to a madhouse.  Actually, I walked into a yoked gentleman with slicked back hair, an Ed Hardy Tee-Shirt, and a name tag that read "Dookie".  Another fellow, similarly dressed and built, with a name tag introducing him as "The Predicament" hollered "The bus is about to leave, finish your $%&#ing drinks."  The place was wall to wall Guidos and Guidettes on a "Jersey Shore" pub crawl.  And, I must say they had gone all out.  They were having a grand old time, and the bartenders seemed to be enjoying the rush.  The regulars, who were easy to make out, seemed a little unsure what to make of the hubbub.  They watched the rucuss going on behind them with an amused curiosity, particularly that involving the leopard printed, spandex wrapped, cleavage laden Guidettes. I was able to find a seat at the back (next to the Golden Tee and jukebox!) and gain the attention of the bartender without much trouble at all.  I ordered a drink, and asked about my game.  Two minutes later I was watching my game and sipping a stiff Makers Mark and Ginger Ale. After about 20 minutes, The Jersey Shore party managed to stumble it's way out and back on their bus, and aside from a few stragglers running back in to reclaim their forgotten credit cards, things were back to what I would guess is normal.  About 15 regulars sat at the bar, some of whom were playing dice and trading jibes with the bartenders.  The 2nd bartender, Jeff, saw me watching the Duck game, and asked me if I was "the fella who'd called earlier". "Sure am" I replied.  "Glad you made it" he said as he turned the volume up on my game.  Well played good sir, well played.  We were up 16 early on in the second half when UCLA went on a run.  With about 5 minutes left they had come all the way back to tie it.  I knew then what i had to do.  I ordered another drink and put my new "Extra Medium" Yellow Oregon shirt on over the top of the green Duck shirt I'd worn in.  As Jeff handed me the drink, we regained the lead and all was once again, right in the world.  We managed to eke out a victory to complete the season sweep of the LA schools, (EFF! U! C! L! A! if only we weren't 2-10 against the rest of the league. . . ) I paid my tab, (9 bucks. . . or the price of one drink in PA) was congratulated for "my" victory, thanked for my patronage, and told to come back soon.  Thanks fellas, I plan on it. 

      Now, I am not saying that I've decided for certain that "Cheaters" is the one, but it has passed it's initial test with flying colors.  Its very name, however, screams for me to be wary, to see what else is out there before I commit.  And I probably will.  If you, dear reader, have any thoughts on the matter, I would love to hear them.  I think you know what Im looking for, and it has to be reasonably close to 18th and G.  Remember, though, we are on deadline. There are only two short weeks until March Madness.  Or as I like to call it, mating season.