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My Drug of Choice

Story ID:4526
Written by:Michael Timothy Smith (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:Story
Location:Caldwell Idaho USA
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I have a confession. My life is ruled by a drug.
I don't know what to do.

Thanksgiving is a weekend noted for the usage of
this drug. I'll be one of them.

Pray for me.

My Drug of Choice

As a kid in Canada, football meant nothing to me. It was just a game that
interrupted the "Bugs Bunny" cartoons on Saturday evenings.

In 1999, I moved to Columbus, Ohio. It was September - the beginning of the
Ohio State Buckeye's football season.

One Monday morning, a coworker looked at
me with the glazed look of a drug addict. "Did
you watch the game on Saturday?"

"No! I don't do football."

"Oh! OK!" He turned and found someone else to share his habit with.

To fit in, I started to watch the games. At first, it was just a little Ohio State
Buckeye. I did it only on Saturday. It wasn't serious.

One weekend, my wife walked into the room. "Since when do you watch

"Hun, I need to fit in with the gang!"

My addiction became a problem.

One Saturday, I turned on the television, flipped through the channels, and the
Buckeyes weren't playing. They had a bye. I found a Penn State game. They played Ohio.
I watched them. They weren't as strong, but they satisfied my craving.

Time passed. I found myself doing all the Big Ten teams. If I couldn't find them,
I used other drugs. I dabbled with a little Big 12 and then a little SEC.

My habit grew. I moved to New Jersey. A
coworker told me about a bar in Manhattan that
catered to OSU addicts. I jumped on a bus, hopped
onto the subway, and walked a couple blocks to
their den.

People in scarlet and grey stood outside
and cheered. My eyes glazed over. My
drug of choice was there. In the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world, was a
pocket of people who shared my addiction.

One night, on my way home from work, the
traffic sign over the New Jersey
Turnpike read, "Go, Rutgers!"

A new drug - The Big East!

A new woman came into my life. She was into the hard stuff. She introduced me
to the NFL and AFC. I saw players from my soft drug days. My heart raced. I pointed, "I
remember him!"

My body shook.


What was once just a hit or two on Saturday became a weekend overdose. Before
long, I was doing a little college stuff on Thursday night, then a small hit on Friday, then
wallowed in it all weekend.

On Monday morning, I’d crawl from bed, my eyes red and sore. I wanted a hit,
but knew my boss would know I was under the influence. The clock read 7 AM. I
couldn’t take another hit until 8 PM, when “Monday Night Football” came on.

Monday dragged on. I satisfied my craving by bantering with the co-workers, who
shared my addiction. It made us feel better, just talking about it.

We moved to Idaho and found another group of Ohio addicts. They met in a bar
to share a little OSU. We sat in groups and shared our drug. We’d get high, jump to our
feet. and slap hands when the drug hit.

Recently, a co-worked introduced me to a
new drug. He said, "Try a little Bronco. You'll
like it. It’s homegrown. It’s unbeatable this
year, and it grows naturally in Idaho.”

I took a couple hits. My pupils dilated. I sighed with pleasure. “This is good!”

Tuesday arrived. I checked in with my supplier. His name is Espn. What was his
mother thinking?

We met in a dark room. A bluish light washed over us. “Espn, what do you have
for me?”

“Got nothing new for you, Man.”

“Come on!” I tried to push his button. “You must have something?”

“Sorry, Man! I got nothin’ new for you.”

“There must be something you can give me.”My hands began to shake. “I’ll take

“Well, I might have a little classic stuff. It’s not fresh, but it is the best of the
old stuff. I promise some new stuff on Thursday
night. This will hold you over till then.”

He was right. It wasn’t fresh, but it satisfied. They were best drugs history could

Christmas and the New Year came. My one-day-a-week habit was out of control.
I sucked it up by the bowl full. I did sugar, cotton, orange, and the fiesta. I did it all.

It ended. For two weeks, I suffered and waited for the promised Super Bowl.
It was tough. I broke down occasionally and did a little classic stuff – just a little.

The Super Bowl was all it promised. The high lasted for a week, and then my
supply ran out.

“That’s all I have, Man!” Espn said. “The next shipment won’t be in until the

I settled for weaker drugs. I dabbled in hockey, baseball, and even curling, but
there’s no drug like football.

I checked the calendar. August was four months away. I could taste it.

Michael T. Smith