Fayette County has always been known as a hub for great soccer, at least as far back as I can remember. Every year the title hunt comes through here and the trophy cases at the local schools are proof. For regular followers of the local sports scene though, it is easy to see that there is a new trend of winning traditions in all sports.

What am I thankful for as I sit down to write this column a day before Thanksgiving? The same things most of you are probably thankful for - family, health, central air and heat, indoor plumbing... my iPhone. I love all of those things but I don’t want to write about any of those things. It’s overdone. My family knows how much I love them, as does my iPhone.

Since there has been loud opposition to President Obama’s address to America’s students, I thought I would give them the antithesis of his speech so that they can read this to their children and deliver the exact opposite message.

My son starts Pre-K next Monday. As most parents out there probably can guess, especially if they have gone through this themselves, my wife and I are more excited and nervous than Colin is. We have been running practices to get up and out of the house earlier so he makes it to school on time, have gone back to school shopping and are going to an orientation tonight. I’m glad we get to meet the teacher because I’m not sure exactly what Pre-K involves. Pre-K is pre-kindergarten, but I never really thought that children needed preparation for kindergarten. I had always assumed kindergarten was preparation in itself.

When all the big dates and events pop up in my life, a column is sure to follow. Skeptics would say it is because I am a cheapskate and writing sappy columns is a cheap gift, but, in truth, these columns are popular outside my household as well. I want to thank the nice people who say hello to us in the grocery store and say things like “ I read your columns all the time.” It makes us feel like Brangelina. Not as wealthy or glamorous, but still, thank you. Also, Ernest Hemingway once said that “good writing is true writing,” and when I open myself up to talk about my personal life, the truth, which we know is out there, gets delivered to the page.

“I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.”

Well, not me. At least not right now. That’s a quote from the film “Network.”

I would start writing this column from the beginning, but I wouldn’t really know where to start. Being born in Salem, Mass.? Living in Swampscott? My life on Swan St. in Beverly? Being king of my elementary school for three years? There are plenty of stories about growing up in Massachusetts, but I think it is far more relevant to discuss my life in the South, which started when I was 17, because over the years, a lot of people from all over the country have moved to the Fayette County. Things are different down here, even though they probably get more similar to the rest of the country every day.

Michael Boylan is enjoying Facebook.

OK, that was never my status on what is arguably the nation’s (maybe even the world’s) top social networking site, but I do like Facebook. With the site closing in on 200 million members worldwide in a few days, there always seems to be something in the news about it. Some people say it is doomed to fail or that it is a stupid concept for narcissistic people to stroke their egos, while others focus on the business model and wonder how someone could hit on something so big.

Colin had just turned two when the Imagination Movers came to Fayetteville. The year was 2007 and everything was hunky dory. At least, as far as I can remember. The Imagination Movers were performing at the Villages Amphitheater on a Saturday evening in May and, as sponsors of the show, The Citizen had some tickets. We decided to invite some friends and their kids to take in the concert with us, even though we had only seen one short video from “The Movers” on the Disney Channel a couple of times.

There are countless books that provide people with ideas of things they should do before they die. I’d like to add an item to those lists.

I am writing this column before the end of 2008 and I am feeling pensive, reflecting on a year that gave me a lot of good things, while taking away some others.

Several years back, old Kris Kringle gave me an exclusive interview. It was one of many highlights of my career and he was a perfect gentleman — charming, funny, thought-provoking and every bit the legend I expected.

Christmas is extra special at our house this year.

Not because it is “Baby’s First Christmas,” because our baby could give a toot. It will be nice to have Christmas where Nora is not in utero (especially for my wife, Sabine, who can actually add some fun to her egg nog this year) and Sabine’s folks are coming down to mark the occasion, but, honestly, Nora can’t tell the difference between Christmas and Talk Like a Pirate Day, so why get all excited about Baby’s First Christmas? It was Baby’s First Thanksgiving, too. How did she celebrate? Strained bananas. Not exactly what the pilgrims battled the deadly ocean and harsh winters for, lo those many years ago. We have a present or two ready to go under the tree for her, but when we were looking for ways to tighten the belts and trim the excess of the holidays, the budget for presents for Nora was the first item on the list to go.

Ask any of my fellow colleagues, past or present, and they will tell you that it just isn’t Christmas until Mike starts blasting “The Christmas Shoes,” several times a day, regardless of how many people cry, beg and plead for him to stop.

Last week I published my first column in a long time. Apparently, I was a little rusty because I made a faux pas. When discussing my infant daughter, Nora, I stated that she tended to look like Peter Boyle from the back. Although the line was greeted with much laughter, I was urged to write something a little nicer about her.

Last year I wrote a book that dealt a little with time travel (Time Killer - available now at Lulu.com) and one of the things that happens in the book is that the present version of the hero meets up with the past version of himself. This also happened recently on the great new television show (based on a BBC show of the same name) “Life on Mars.” The same type of thing happens in all sorts of programs involving time travel, from “Back to the Future,” to “Quantum Leap” and beyond. It’s pretty trippy stuff, because one often has to wonder what would happen if you, meaning the you of today, met up with the you of some time in your past. What kind of advice would you impart on yourself and how would your life be different afterwards?

Every year around this time I write about my favorite horror movies and each year the list is basically the same. I always recommend “Halloween,” the original, not Rob Zombie’s dreadful and unnecessary remake, and I think Peter Jackson’s “Dead Alive” is a lot of fun - if you don’t mind being completely assaulted by massive amounts of goo and gore - but I want to talk about what horror movies you should avoid.

When summer time hits and the high school ball fields are empty, the sports pages need to be filled. We receive news of little league baseball teams, soccer teams, roller hockey teams, swimmers, golfers, drivers of all ages and track athletes. In addition to all of these stories, my colleague Kevin Wandra and I have started a summer tradition of challenging each other to sporting activities around the county and seeing how we stack up. Last year, we went miniature golfing at DixieLand Fun Park. I won the first course and Kevin won the second, also eking out a one-stroke overall win.

That headline, while clever, is a little misleading. I am the one trying to get fit with the new Wii Fit. My wife is already in great shape. Just two months after the birth of our daughter, she is already back to her weight before we even had kids. And yes, I am more than a little jealous. I enjoyed all the sympathy weight gain while she was pregnant with our son, Colin (another brownie sundae, dear?), but didn’t get to enjoy any of the calorie draining breast-feeding after he was born.

The Citizen has certainly done its share of picking on The Frederick Brown Jr. Amphitheater in the past and not without reason (semi-annual REO Speedwagon/Foreigner shows anyone?), but the kick-off to the 2008 Summer Concert Series was fantastic.

The hot topic of the 1984 McKay Elementary School Science Fair, at least in the mind of a charming, fourth grade boy with the initials M.B., was acid rain. He had read about this in an issue of National Geographic, which came to his home faithfully thanks to a gift from his Grampy.

I forgot how small babies are when they are first born.

Our son, Colin, will be three years old at the end of April and he looks like a giant compared to his baby sister, Nora. When he holds her and tries to pat her head I am reminded of the giant in the Bugs Bunny cartoons, expecting him to start hugging and squeezing and calling his sister George at any minute.

From time to time, I get called a Yankee. It’s done mostly in a joking manner and the person calling me that isn’t thinking about my deep hatred for the baseball team with the same name. The word typically comes up when something truly southern comes up in conversation.

7th grade dance

We had been going out for a week, although we hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

We had agreed to meet at the school dance, which was to be held in the gym, that Friday. I don’t remember what I wore that night, other than a liberal amount of English Leather, and I can’t remember what she wore either.

I sat in the living room of my cousin Lisa’s apartment last year watching the AFC Championship game between the Patriots and Colts with family members I hadn’t seen in years. We ate this great chicken pot pie and had a few beers, celebrating and hooting and hollering as the Patriots ran up an 18 point lead over Peyton Manning and his boys.

Is everybody O.K.? Did you have enough bread and milk to last you the night on Saturday?

Whew, that was some batch of flurries.

Close your eyes and try to imagine what the news room of The Citizen looks like. Don’t get scared. We won’t let Ben bite.

First off, this is not in response to not getting what I wanted from Santa Claus for Christmas. I understand that there is really no room in Santa’s sleigh for a vending machine full of Hostess’ Suzy-Qs and Drake’s Devil Dogs. Besides, it is important to be careful what you wish for. You wish for a mega-supply of delicious baked goods and you get something else, like a huge gut. Or worse.

“Merrit, Tre Merritt
King of Dewitt, Arkansas”

To the tune of “Davy Crockett”

The story of five-year-old Tre Merritt, a descendant of Davy Crockett, killing a 445-pound black bear lit up the internet on Tuesday. There were stories about the tiny hunter on both ESPN.com and Drudge Report, as well as video clips of little Merritt holding a rifle and driving an ATV.

Ahhh, the slow news days of December. A time to read about Hannah Montana’s march across the country, raunchy mannequins in a shopping mall, teddy bears named Muhammad and the return of Don Imus to the airwaves.