Most Earth residents would argue that eating pizza is not a sport. But four usually sane men, who are risking their reputations and digestive tracts at today's Warrior Spring Football Challenge at Cooke Field, would disagree. I'm finally hoping it pays off. The marriage of food, drink and sports has been around since before Fred and Barney bowled for brontosaurus burgers.
Sports is part of our literary daily bread, both symbolically and metaphorically.
Tickets sell like hot cakes. A shutout is a doughnut. Home is the plate. We chase the carrot in hopes of winning the Big Enchilada. We celebrate by dousing our coaches with Gatorade and spraying our teammates with champagne.