Training sports journalists not to engage in cheering for a team is like housebreaking a puppy.

Just like it’s natural for puppies to urinate wherever they please, it is equally as instinctive for raging sports-nut writers to root for the teams they cover.

And just when I started to consider myself a pretty good sports writer – completely housebroken of my natural inclinations to cheer– I peed on the carpet.

Thanks a lot, BU women’s basketball team.

At its foundation, sportswriting is the most paradoxical of crafts.

In sports journalism school – a place designated for souls overtaken with Peter Pan syndrome and the inability to comprehend advanced mathematics – we’re taught to strip ourselves of our fanhood.

We're supposed to be objective and disconnected from the athletes we write about. <br/>Ironically, the entire reason I entered the field is because I care so much about the game.Ironically, the entire reason I entered the field is because I care so much about the game.
Ironically, the entire reason I entered the field is because I care so much about the game.

I threw my remote at the television when my Cubbies traded Mark DeRosa and unknowingly cursed Carl Peterson's decision-making in front of his wife. I even wore the same dirty pair of Chiefs boxers every Sunday during the 2003 NFL season because I was convinced my disregard for cleanliness was contributing to the Chiefs' 9-0 start. And these professors are telling me if I want to pursue sportswriting then I no longer can be a fan? <br/>I quickly figured out my professors were right.I quickly figured out my professors were right.
I quickly figured out my professors were right.

It’s extremely difficult to be objective when you analyze games with your heart instead of your head.

For the first time in a while, I lapsed during the ‘Cats’ playoff loss to Avila University.

Never before have I seen a team unite and play with so much emotion on the court. These women wanted to win. Bad.

Tension oozed throughout the gym as our women – the No. 6 seed – gave third-seeded Avila everything it could handle.

It was impossible to curb my enthusiasm.

So during the ‘Cats buildup to a nine-point advantage with about two minutes to play, I temporarily forgot I was with the press.

I was smiling like Richard Simmons at a Tae Bo conference when Gloria Atanmo swished home a jumper in Ashley Townsend’s face. Then I practically gave Aubree Gustin a standing ovation after she drained two crucial free throws to tie the game.

I may have even asked Jenna Brantley to marry me during the ensuing timeout – I’m not sure, it all happened so fast.

All I do know is that I left that game with two conflicting feelings boxing in my brain: disappointment for my lack of professionalism, but pride and thankfulness for getting to cover such a special group of athletes.