Some might say I'm obsessive.

Actually, all my friends might say that. But don't I keep things interesting? Don't answer that.

Background: I am a big—HUGE—Hines Ward fan. (Note: If you have to Google his name, I’m afraid we just can’t be friends anymore.) I was in school at UGA for two of his four years on the football team, and he was my favorite player. And after 1998 draft—when he went to Pittsburgh in the third round of the NFL draft—I became a Steelers fan. Please don’t judge me, I don’t actually own a Terrible Towel.

(But I want one.)

Anyway, for various reasons (all good!) I’ve put a lot of hope and faith in the upcoming year, starting with my 33rd birthday in August. I am happy to report that the weeks-long celebrations were more fun than I could have dreamed, and the zenith of all the events was finding Hines Ward’s house in Atlanta.

Put the phone down! There’s no reason to get the cops involved. I didn’t jump the fence or anything.

It was too tall and I wasn’t wearing tennis shoes. Next time.

Please don’t make me tell you how I figured out where his house is; it’s really not important. (File that under Things My Attorney Said Not To Discuss.)

(But if you need me for any PI work, I have to say, I’m pretty good.)

What is important is that I found his house. And, with a little navigational help from Mallory Crayne (whose name I’ve changed in the interest of protection), I drove to his house, jumped out, and demanded a photo—right there in front of the security cameras. Rebel, I am. It may have been one of the happiest days of my life.

I don’t have any children yet; I’m allowed to say that.

Coming soon: The story of how I got Hines Ward to follow me on Twitter. I’m shameless.


You can see from this picture that I was giddy but somewhat fearful (one foot ready to run!), and my partner-in-crime was afraid we might be committing an actual crime, so she snapped it from the safety of my car. But? Still awesome.