At the end of every school year, sports columnists use their final submission to talk about the year that was in the sports world. As much as I would love to relive things like the football team's 9-0 record or the Elite Eight trip taken by the men's basketball team, I'll let my fellow columnists give you the guided tour down memory lane.
Instead, I would like to take my last opportunity with Cardinal ink to introduce you to someone. Some say he looks like Mr. Clean because of his bald, shiny head. A few comparisons to Gandhi have been made, and you may even know him as \Rusty."" Whatever you want to call him, I know him most importantly as Dad.
If you read my columns this year, I hope you were able to recognize my love and adequate amount of knowledge in the sports world-especially basketball-since a majority of my columns were devoted to that sport. None of this would have been possible if it weren't for my dad introducing me to the sport at a very young age.
It all started when I was two years old and my dad took me to my first Milwaukee Bucks game. Apparently they were playing the Boston Celtics in the 1987 playoffs and the Bucks ended up losing 138-137 in double overtime. Unfortunately, I don't remember the game. Somehow I was able to sleep through the noise at the Mecca Arena and through one of the most exciting games my dad said he had ever witnessed.
Even though I don't remember a thing from that game, I'd like to think that is where my dad, basketball and I became inseparable. Throughout my childhood, Bucks games with Dad became a part of my regular routine. My first grade school crushes were on ex-Bucks Erick Murdock and Blue Edwards, and my dad provided entertainment for me every summer Sunday afternoon when he and his other middle-aged brothers battled each other (and their health) on the Golomski playground in my backyard as a part of ""the Popsicle League.""
As you can tell, basketball was life, the rest was just details. Well, sort of. I never actually played basketball. My dad gave me a choice: I could either continue with the swim team that I had been on since age seven or I could join the St. Jude Fighting Bobcats grade school basketball team with all the other girls. I was not allowed to do both.
At the time, I hated my dad for limiting me to one sport. He knew I loved basketball and wanted to keep swimming so why couldn't he just let me do both? He was doing his dad-duties by teaching me an invaluable lesson about commitment. There were so many kids that were able to balance basketball, swimming, three soccer leagues, etc., but they would usually have to leave one sports' practice or game early to make it to the other. My dad recognized this and did not want me to be that kid.
While I never got to display my lack of basketball skills, my dad still fueled my love of the game. To this day, he makes sure I know what's going on in the NBA, especially with the Bucks, through his daily e-mails and calls. I'll admit, I was not too thrilled when he called this year to tell me the Bucks acquired guard Anthony Goldwire (I still don't really know who he is) but I was happy that he still took the time out to keep me informed.
As you can see by now, my dad means the world to me. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here, but more importantly, you would have never been able to hear me spout my thoughts on the sports world. Now that the end is here, and regardless of whether you liked or disliked my column, I wanted to say thank you for reading my babble and to my dad, I thank him from the bottom of my heart for giving me something to write about.
We know you are going to miss your weekly dose of Betsy over the summer, so why don't you e-mail her at eagolomski@wisc.edu and tell her about it?
