T he best advice I have ever received about my column-writing was absurdly simple: Put a little honest piece of yourself into every column you write.
When I took over this column space, I knew what role I was supposed to fill. I was a female sportswriter, an enlightened young college woman, a former high school athlete and a benefactor of Title IX: this was my space to trumpet women's athletics at Virginia.
It all started innocently enough: Three fourth-year sportswriters traveling to Chapel Hill for our last Virginia basketball game in the Dean Dome.
Spring is finally here. Unlike those who think that tree blossoms or warm weather or the appearance of sundresses herald the season of rebirth, I've spent the last four years attached to a different sign of spring: helmets and shoulder pads.
I am totally stressed out. Sure, the horrible weather and the post-Spring Break letdown has hit a lot of us hard this week, but my nail biting has nothing to do with school.
When Youth Dies for Loyalties Sake The Hallowed Memory of Love Abides. This inscription reads as startling on the pages of a newspaper as it does in the dim light of our University Chapel. The chapel might be the last place that you would expect to find a vital piece of our nation's sports history, but a little sleuthing will reveal just that.
You want a story? Let Roger Voisinet tell you a story. A hockey story. Voisinet is the general manager and assistant coach of the U.Va.
There are very few things in this life that I really can't stand. I've always considered myself a tolerant person, someone who strives to be patient and reasonable and understanding.
There were 20 of us who stumbled into the University Hall media room in the spring of 2001 -- wide-eyed first-years excited to have clinched a spot in hands-down the coolest-sounding USEM.
As if academic achievement, social action and good looks weren't enough, last week brought another stroke of luck to the Class of 2004.
