GENEVA, Switzerland -- For two months, I have lived 15 minutes from Lake Geneva, sandwiched between the Jura Mountains and the Swiss Alps. I've traded my three history courses for three-day weekends, and North Face Nation for the most diverse city in the world. Genevan girls are so gorgeous that I'm determined to swing back through here when it comes time to find a wife, and the entire country is so clean that I sometimes feel my very presence is an affront to the Swiss state.
But still, something is missing. What was all that talk about going abroad and attaining inner peace? Something about finding myself? It's true that in the Quality of Life Department, Switzerland dominates the U.S. in more categories than not (some not suitable for print). But sadly, all the direct democracy in the world can't conceal its most glaring deficiency: the spectator sports selection.
Try to name one athlete not named Roger Federer who hails from Suisse.
Need more time?
That's what I thought.
I had absolutely zero reservations about leaving the country this fall -- until a southpaw Yankee defector lured Roger Clemens out of retirement and into an Astros uniform. After that, making the decision to go 4,000 miles away and miss this October was more difficult than Elton Brown reacting to being told to tuck in his jersey on the free throw line.
Let's analyze some possible consolations the Swiss provide while I'm waiting in agony for every pitch update on ESPN Gamecast this October:
Cycling -- That's bearable in July, so long as Sheryl Crow continues to get as much face time as Jan Ullrich. Besides, how could anyone worship a sport so infested with performance enhancing drugs?
Alpine skiing -- Next to World B. Free, Picabo Street is still the coolest name in sports history. Sorry, Majestic. And I do like to see how many variations of the spider web template those spandex uniform designers can think up, but it's hard for a kid from Southeast Texas to comprehend what a "solid run" in the giant slalom constitutes.
"Schwingfest" -- I kid you not, this exists. And it has nothing to do with Aurora, Ill. Think Rulon Gardner crossed with a World's Strongest Man Competition -- and a sprinkle of The Great Outdoor Games on top. Behemoth Swiss lumberjacks train year-round to grapple with each other during one weekend in August. It is an exhibition of brute strength and sheer determination -- but also 1970s fashion at its finest. Game off!
I love the outdoors, and backpacking in the Alps puts an afternoon in the Blue Ridge Mountains to shame. But when it comes to the excitement of following a team or an athlete through thick and thin, the Winter Olympics don't compare to a 4-0 Virginia football team with ACC title hopes (not to mention a home date with Miami in November). Nor can Nordic walking give me goose bumps like the ones I felt when the Astros completed their resurrection -- from four games under .500 on Aug. 14 to Wild Card Champions six weeks later.
Am I questioning my timing to go abroad yet? No way. I'm in Switzerland. You're in Charlottesville. Ask me again after Houston beats the Sox in the Series and Virginia's in the Orange Bowl. If that scenario unfolds, I'll be drowning myself in wine -- it should go down well with my Swiss cheese.
Footnote: If you knew Martina Hingis was Swiss, good job. All four of you.
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