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There are plenty of narcissistic ways to start off a column, but I can't think of a better way than coming right out and saying it like this: People love me.
But there's a reason (there's always a reason in this column) for me saying it like that. People just always seem to give me things, for free, without me implying that I want them. And let's get one thing straight: I love free stuff.
For instance, just growing up with two brothers who were really smart in high school -- as well as extremely athletically talented -- academic and athletic partial scholarships were always available to them, which helped out my parents immensely.
Because I wasn't always the sharpest tool in the shed, nor was I gifted athletically the way my brothers were, I was going to have to find another way to pay for college.
Yes, there were loans, but I used to jokingly tell my mother that all that money she saved on John and Tom could be applied to my college tuition.
But then again, I wasn't always joking. I could be serious, too.
Just recently, my older brother, John, found a receipt from my sophomore year at Penn State that my parents had paid for me. He showed it to me, and we both had to laugh when seeing how cheap it was in 1985 to be a Nittany Lion.
When I showed it to my two daughters, there was no laughter -- just tears because it is nowhere near what they pay to attend Pennsylvania State Athletic Conference schools.
But back to my point. People give me things.
Over Christmas, a teller at my bank gave me a gift card to a local eatery. I told a friend at work, and he was incredulous when hearing the story, saying only that -- to paraphrase -- Scotty, you are supposed to give your teller a gift card, not the other way around. Can't help it.
Once, while leaving a local gym after a workout, there was a package for me on the counter. It was a giant drinking glass with the logo of my favorite college football team, the Illinois Fighting Illini, on it. When I asked the girl working who it was from, she only said that it was someone who saw me wearing my Illini coat and sweatshirt all the time while working out, and that I probably would enjoy it. Can't help it.
There was the time at the grocery store where I let an older gentleman go in front of me because he only had two items. I had a lot more in my cart, so why make the guy wait? He offered to pay for the 20-ounce bottle of soda that I was getting for myself. He asked if I wanted anything else. I said no thanks, though, jokingly, I said what about my grocery bill? He politely, and smilingly, declined.
I told him I was just kidding -- sort of.
When my kids were younger, there was a gentleman who used to offer me four tickets to Curve games when he would bump into me, thinking I would enjoy a baseball game, which I would. However, because I have four kids and a wife, he could only offer four tickets, and though my situation was not like that of Meryl Streep in the film "Sophie's Choice," I sometimes had to decline.
At the Mirror, co-workers leave food and gift items on my desk, and people who don't want to throw food away from the daytime shift pass it on to me at night. Some of the sports memorabilia I have at work was given to me, not as birthday or holiday gifts, but just as gifts because they know how much I love sports.
Of course, being diabetic now, I can no longer enjoy the food treats like in the past, so it is regifted within the newsroom. I constantly urge my co-workers to finish off the goodies, out of the goodness of my heart, and mostly, for the goodness of my heart.
I do not want to go into a diabetic coma at the Mirror. The only person who benefits from that is the obit clerk. Boy, if she ever comes around my desk asking for a recent photo of me, that's going to make me extremely nervous.
Now that I think about it, I probably should get her something … right?
Mirror Sports Writer/Copy Editor Scott Franco writes a monthly column.