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MY JAVY

Maybe I should have had another cheeseburger.--Javier Lopez

Javier Lopez is my favorite baseball player in the entire world. He's the reason why they say baseball is America's pastime…I was able to meet Javy at a Target in Alpharetta, Georgia in 1997 and I made him laugh (It was my sparkling personality.). The only thing that ruined my encounter with my hero was when he got slightly annoyed with me when I asked him for a picture. But, I choose not to remember that moment because I'm sure if he knew all I went through to get there ("I got, like, a 1600 on the SAT's and I'm going to an Ivy League school." -Mr. Ho) he would've understood. In fact, I was hoping to return to Atlanta in the summer of 2000 to work as a public relations intern at Turner Field, but they needed me to start in May and thanks to the quarter system I’ll be studying ‘til mid-June. So, I was a little sad because I was essentially rejected by the corporation that represents the man of my dreams...but, it just so happens that last season while Javy was nursing a knee injury, he was exercising those parts that still worked and lo and behold little Kelvin was born prior to spring training. I guess it’s about time for me to move on anyway: the pubescent obsession might become increasingly alarming as time goes on. But, you see, it’s all about Atlanta--Javy and the Braves are reminiscent of home and everything that I left behind and it’s kind of nice to hold onto even if it is just for the sake of warm, fuzzy memories.

Me and my soul mate. (Ignore the Target security guard.)

What a perfectly delightful computer!

Javy's Second Biggest Fans:

My Curse

I’m trying pretty hard to steer away from an obsession with Javy to an appreciation of the Braves’ athletic prowess...which, admittedly, isn’t an easy feat for me simply because he’s outlasted any stupid boyfriend I’ve had...and isn’t easy for them because of the Lisa Lacy kiss of death. Allow me to explain: I’m a sports curse. (Nope, I’m not just being bitter, Jonathan, et al--I’m really a curse.) I move to Atlanta in 1996. What happens? The Braves suck ass in post-season play against the Yankees (‘96), the Marlins (‘97), the Padres (‘98) and the Yankees (‘99). My first year at UCLA the Bruins head to the Rose Bowl with high hopes--and rest assured that the Wisconsin victory had nothing at all to do with the 400 pounds of Ron Dayne and everything to do with Lisa Lacy rooting for the home team. I became an honorary yellow jacket and Georgia Tech lost the Gator Bowl on New Years Day of this year (and Wisconsin pulled through with another Rose Bowl victory...). I have predicted the Super Bowl loser 3 years running (and, yes, I ignore anything athletic and tend to pledge allegiance to the Packers (in ‘98) because they’ve got a Mississipian (Brett Favre) or the Falcons (in ‘99) because they can do the dirty bird or the Titans (in ‘00) because Steve “Air” McNair is from Mississippi and would probably have better luck if I actually heeded stats, etc...but it becomes a matter of regional pride...So, see? There is a little bit of the South left in me after all...). Want to know why UCLA was eliminated in the third round of the NCAA tournament this year? Me. (And maybe a little bit of Steve Lavin.)

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