TWO YEARS ago I had an epiphany. That little white lab coat hanging in the front of my closet, stylish as it was, needed to be exported to the very back, somewhere between the rainbow-striped blouse and polka-dot skirt my mom had bought me the previous Christmas.
It wasn't all about fashion, though. I realized that maybe chemistry wasn't my thing. Maybe I could have a crush on Bill Nye The Science Guy without consummating the relationship with a degree in biochemistry. Maybe I didn't really have to discover the heralded element No. 120, Piedelium, as my high school chemistry teacher suggested.
So I swapped hours in the lab for office hours in Alderman Café, chemical bonds for bonds with actual human beings. Biochemistry got the axe in favor of English. I wanted to be a writer -- a journalist -- the English major was the only logical road for me to take. Sure that 26 (yes out of 100) I got on an organic chemistry test probably factored into my decision, but let's be real here, I wanted to write.
Soon I found myself traveling to the armpits of Newcomb Hall -- where not even a science geek's cell phone can get reception -- to visit The Cavalier Daily. After dodging the News editors with a fake cough and a-choo, I found my way to the Sports desk, where a friendly-looking red-haired guy was sitting. He seemed to be a little preoccupied with some baseball game, but he signed me up for my first story just the same.
Over the next two years, I wrote about just about every Virginia sports team. I may have been the jinx that kept the women's basketball team out of the postseason for the first time in 20 years, but I redeemed myself when the women's lacrosse team won it all at Princeton. I was at Pete Gillen's final press conference and Sean Singletary's first. Maybe most importantly, I made a lot of clips for my mom to put in that scrapbook she says she's going to buy someday.
Seriously though, after traveling thousands of miles, visiting dozens of college sporting venues and writing enough to keep my hand hurting at least into my 30s, it's now time to flip the page.
Thanks to my friends and family for reading, to Adam for your support and affection, and to all the others who gave me compliments on my columnist picture and advice on my football picks.
And of course thanks to the entire Sports staff: Joey, for your appreciation of lewd jokes (water!); Elizabeth, for enjoying that ice machine as much as me -- wow that's good ice; Jeremy, for your smile, even if it is accompanied by the occasional whining tantrum; Joe, for the love of the 2004 World Series Champion Boston Red Sox; Sean, for your pep and your amazing impression of Petey G; Clayton, for saving me a seat even when the weather's nice and I play hooky; J.D., for helping me get through boring banquets; Bayless, for inventing Chief Wahoo; Chris, for making Gameday what it is; Melissa, for keeping the women at the top, and of course for helping me survive 382; and to all the rest for your hard work and commitment. At the risk of sounding sappy, I'll remember you guys for ages.
Oh, and if someday in the future you come across the name Piedel, whether in the newspaper or on the periodic table, I hope you remember me too.
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