A taste of sports

Sep 242003
Authors: John Teten

Do you see an explosion of radiant fireworks when you listen to music? Does a strum of a guitar cause a tingling in your toes and violins a breeze on your face? If so, there are two options: you gotta’ stop dropping acid or you have a condition called Synesthesia. Synesthesia is a combination of sensory perceptions; two senses are involuntarily linked to each other. It is real and it affects roughly one in 25,000 people, according to a CNN report.

While contemplating this condition I discovered that I have sports-related-synesthesia. When certain sports words or phrases are said my taste buds are electrified. Each word brings a different taste. My tongue is ready, are you?

The phrase “Colorado State football” evokes a distinct flavor of a t-bone steak-just a bit overdone. What at first seemed so fantastic is now closer to your average burger.

“Bradlee Van Pelt” tastes like Cartman’s cheesy poofs. BVP is a beefcake. I saw him at Waterworld this summer and his arms looked like anacondas, only not as lame and predictable as the J.Lo/Ice Cube flick.

The words “defensive secondary” bring a heavy likening of charcoal. Huh, both get burned, weird.

“Sonny Lubick” gives my tongue with a hint of Taco Bell’s nacho supreme, something so good for so little. It’s amazing that a coach of his status passes up big money and recognition to hang out here with us.

“Women’s cross country.” Jalapenos because, man, those girls are hot! They work harder than I ever imagined. I have been thoroughly impressed with the ladies from the old field house. They ran to victory in their first two events and are poised to win again this weekend.

The “men’s X-C team” is much like my mom’s pot roast, a lot of time and energy is put in to make something so good. Those dudes run more in one week, 70 to 100 miles, than the rest of Fort Collins does in a month.

The words “CSU football fans” arouses a mixture of Keystone Light and vomit, probably because that’s what the knuckleheads next to me on Saturday smelled like. How can we be taken seriously if we have a bunch of jacks yelling at anything that moves; refs, cheerleaders, tuba players, and security guards were all the brunt of some glazy-eyed fool’s drunken chatter.

Continuing on…

My stomach turns with “Warren Sapp” and the bitter tang of sweat. Someone should do something about his pants. The pewter just doesn’t conceal sweat stains. He needs to change at halftime or never again hop around, please.

I get a mouth full of Raider when “Bronco” is spoken. That must be the same taste Plummer, Portis and Co. have after Monday night’s massacre. I know Oakland’s old, but it looked like Al Davis raided a senior center to field his team.

“Romo”, I’d have to say whatever steroids taste like, that’s definitely the flavor I’m getting with him. How is it possible that he isn’t in prison right now? He’s more dangerous than half of Al-Qaeda.

Speaking of prison, with “Kobe” I savor the flavor of bologna. Only a couple people really know how it got to this point, the rest just hope for the best.

Synesthesia is not a joke, but this column most certainly is.

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