“I thought your column was a complete failure.”

Those were the words one reader serenaded me with after he read one of my articles two years ago. That reader, grad student Alexander Ferdkoyf, left the University in 2003.

I, on the other hand, stuck around for a couple more years and – probably much to Ferdkoyf’s displeasure – kept writing columns.

During my time filling up a chunk of Thursday’s sports section for the Daily Illini, I had four main objectives – to make people laugh, to make people cry, to take the pulse of everyday fans and to piss off people to the point that they wanted to tie my hands behind my back, cover my ears in cake icing and throw me in a boxing ring with Mike Tyson.

Judging by Mr. Ferdkoyf’s comment, I had no problem achieving goal No. 4. Surprisingly enough, I think I scored on my other three goals as well.

One reader responded to a column with, “Pretty funny stuff.”

Another reader said of another column, “You made me cry. A lot.”

Another wrote, “You were able to capture in words what so many of us feel.”

OK, those statements are not exactly as enthusiastic or powerful as “I thought your column was a complete failure.” But I’ll take what I can get.

Honestly, I was happy just to have the chance to spout off about anything related to sports.

I love sports. Love playing ’em. Love watching ’em. Love talking about ’em.

Giving me a sports column was like giving Terrell Owens a Terrell Owens column. It’s a lot of fun to write about something you love.

For all the testosterone-filled frat boys, former high school jocks and sports know-it-alls on this campus, I was among a handful of people who got to stay connected to sports in such a unique way. For that, I am grateful.

To know there was a chance somebody might be listening to what I was saying was gravy. That some people cared enough to actually respond – in writing or out loud – was a narcotic. Every time someone gave me feedback, I got my fix.

Like I said, it didn’t matter though. I would have written my columns in my journal if the DI didn’t want me. Unlike the ancient Romans, I thought constructing columns was therapeutic.

While writing my first column this year, I clicked the Save button in Microsoft Word, and the program prompted me to name my document. I hadn’t thought of a headline for the column yet, so without thinking I typed in “Return to therapy.”

I didn’t use that label as a headline for my column, but I might as well have. I really was returning to therapy. After a semester studying in Spain and a semester as sports editor, I finally got the opportunity to go back to what I always liked best.

And it was my way of removing myself from classes and tests and professors who give 15-page take-home finals.

I know what you might be thinking. Tiger Woods has a rough day and goes home to cuddle up with his Swedish supermodel wife. I have a rough day and go home to cozy up to my keyboard?

Sounds lame, but it’s true. Having the opportunity to write my opinion about sports was a dream, a pleasure and a release.

But my time’s up. You have been a wonderful audience.

Even you, Mr. Ferdkoyf.