When people find out I’ve set my Love Games series in the world of college athletics, they often ask if I played myself. I wish. Like most jock-types, my dreams of glory started early but were met with adversity. I had a Dorothy Hamill haircut and a pink skating dress my big sister sewed for me, but our local ice rink closed just as I was getting my skates under me. My father covered our back yard in asphalt and installed a regulation goal for my five older brothers. I could (and still can) hit a backwards bucket shot from anywhere within the three-point arc. Even in my First Communion dress. Sadly, I topped out at 5′ 4″, which made me an easy mark for any player blessed with greater height. I can’t tell you how many times I swatted air when trying to get at a jump ball in seventh grade. And spiking over a volleyball net? Forget it. I can bump and set with the best of them, but this girl can’t jump. Despite being vertically challenged, my love of all things sporty has never abated. I live for college football season each year. I can bemoan the…
