Winter is the perfect time to explore the natural stone shelters where native Arkansans once lived
Growing up in Little Rock in the 1980s, few things gave us more pleasure than Razorbacks sports. Whether we were watching Alvin Robertson on the hardwood or Quinn Grovey on the gridiron, we were captivated in the way that kids everywhere are captivated when watching their athletic heroes. When the Hogs won, we were joyous; when they lost, crestfallen.
In the early 90s, we both moved out of the state (barely) to attend the same college in Memphis, Tenn. You might think that the obsession would have waned; on the contrary, it exploded. Encountering lots of people who didn't like the Hogs - even some who, horrors, hated the Razorbacks - our fandom kicked into overdrive. It also didn't hurt that our small liberal arts college's teams competed in the NCAA's Division III and thus engendered no real loyalty and that the Arkansas basketball team was enjoying the greatest half decade in its history.
But after graduation, our obsession began to wane. One of us ended up on the West Coast, the other on the East Coast. In the midst of establishing careers and building new lives in new places, following the Hogs fell off the radar a bit.
Within the last year, however, we've felt ourselves drawn back to our boyhood obsession. While trading e-mails about Darren McFadden's Heisman candidacy, Houston Nutt's various trials and tribulations, and the university's often tragic and comic search for a new basketball coach, we rediscovered the way Arkansas athletics can so thoroughly captivate, irritate and, especially, amuse us.
Thus, RazorbackExpats.com was born.
We look at the site as a way for two Arkansas expatriates to keep on top of and share our views on Razorback athletics. We plan to do so in a spirit of good humor, balance and perspective. The Earth does not hang in the balance with each Hogs' game.
Furthermore, we will be filing no Freedom of Information requests for coaches' cell phone records.
We hope you will join us.