Who Says You Can't Go Home?

Nation, I report to you from beautiful Maryland, land of lax bros, horses, and identity-conflicted Orioles fans. I'm happy to say that all is well down here. Sure my parents' house is completely different. I don't even have a bedroom here anymore. Yes, some of my high school friends have moved away and geography and college has separated me from many others over the years. But some things never change.

It's surprisingly comforting to open the Washington Post each morning and read the crucially important reports from training camp, (Haynesworth still runs with an inhaler strapped across his face, Cooley's shorts grow shorter). Soon I will sit down and count the average times the Post uses "McNabb" and "Superbowl." It's now 40 days until we face the Cowgirls, and I'm feeling a mix of excitement and panic. I need to find a place that shows Skins games, and I need to gain the confidence (or stoop to a new low) to watch the Skins alone, alone in some bar that has gone against the tidal wave of New England sports.

I'll be back in Boston tomorrow, but tonight it's all about reliving the Glory Days - Little Hill, 2400 M, Mcfaddens (McFaddens DC!). Tomorrow it's back to work and the gingiest roommate. Maybe rather than count down the days to Redskins season I should be preparing myself for grad school to start? August 30th y'all.