My 24th wedding anniversary is Monday, and there are many who assume the only way a sports columnist can achieve such bliss is if he finds a mate who also likes sports.
Let me put it this way:
My wife doesn’t hate sports. In some ways, it’s worse (or better, depending on how you look at it): she’s agnostic about sports. Sports don’t affect her. At all. She simply lives her life as if they don’t exist.
Which is why what happened the other day was so notable. I told her I was writing a column about Ricky Cobb.