I just got back from a trip to my doctor and shocked her once again.
"What?! You're still alive?!"
Yes, even though my triglycerides have become octaglycerides and my blood type changed from O negative to KFC positive, I remain a medical miracle by being alive.
Only one thing worried me about this latest trip to the doctor: My blood pressure was a little high.
My doctor whose mind obviously was warped by years in medical school, thinks it might have something to do with double-chili-cheeseburgers, fried chicken and tater logs. She gets so bogged down in those silly medical books that she can't spot the most obvious reasons for this blood pressure spike - Braves, Falcons, Hawks and Bulldogs.
It's a good thing she didn't measure my blood pressure during the NFC Championship game when I was screaming at the television, hoping the Falcons' defense could hear me as I tried to advise them that there's this new position in the league called "tight end" that they might want to cover sometime. I might have blown up the machine.
I watched that game on TV just one night after going to Atlanta to watch the Hawks lose to the San Antonio Spurs at Philips Arena. I actually had to pay for that letdown, although it wasn't exactly unexpected with Atlanta having the most un-inspirational coach in the league, Larry Drew. I could hear him call several plays.
"Y'all might wanna throw the ball in that round thing, or not, I mean, it's up to you. No pressure. Now, let's all go out there and shoot for new levels of adequacy!"
And all this happened just a few weeks after my Bulldogs forgot they could spike the ball and set up two shots at winning the SEC Championship (otherwise known down South as the national champion
ship game). I literally jumped off the sofa that night and landed somewhere on the other side of the room, pounding the floor and screaming "SPIKE THE BALL!!!" I doubt my blood pressure was too good that night, but my vertical leap was outstanding.
On top of all this, I've yet to come to grips with the way my Braves got knocked out of the Major League Baseball playoffs - with the help of the world's longest infield fly.
My teams keep coming so close, only to fall oh so short. It almost makes me wonder if life was easier in the 1980s when we didn't have great teams to follow. Oh, sure, we had Herschel Walker carry Georgia to a title almost by himself, but after that, it was a long drought for sports fans in my home state.
Back then, we appreciated the little things from our teams in the Peach State. We held on to victories like little Spud Webb winning the slam dunk competition and the Braves' Bob Horner getting though nine innings without spraining something. We didn't have to fight for tickets at Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium, where there was plenty of elbow room.
Now, I'm killing myself rooting for teams who come up just short. I was much healthier when my teams came up WAY short. I'm not sure I can live through another stretch of oh-so-close like these past few months.
Oh, where have you gone, Spud Webb? My heart needs you!
Chris Johnson is an independent correspondent whose "Best of Chris Johnson" is now available for Kindle. Follow him at Facebook.com/KudzuKidWriting.