All right, baby, well, this is going to be difficult, being that tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and all, so I’ll just come out and say it.

I just don’t love you anymore.

What we had was magical, and I’ll never forget all those great times, but you just don’t do it for me like you used to.

Remember the first time we met; yeah, I know, it was unbelievable. I was chilling at home and you were in Calgary, just radiant with this amazing character, proud but not self-inflated. I had seen all the others: NBA, NFL, college hoops and even Major League Baseball, but it just didn’t compare to you and all those worldly traits you possessed.

I mean, damn, I just couldn’t get enough. The grace of Debbie Thomas and beauty of Katarina Witt enthralled me. The speed and power of Bonnie Blair, Dan Jansen and Eric Heiden gave me an adrenaline rush every night we spent together. And that whole bit with the Jamaican bobsled team exuded a sense of humor that I just don’t find in most relationships.

It got better with time too. I was like a deer in the headlights with that whole Nancy and Tonya saga back in 1994. Really, baby, there will never in the history of sports be a more comical, ridiculous, inane, riveting and overall entertaining soap opera of revenge. You brought me Eddie “The Eagle,” Picabo and Yamaguchi, and for that I thank you.

And how can I forget the way you offered up the debonair gigolo of the slopes, the one and only Alberto Tomba. Now, you know me, I’m not the philandering type, but that Tomba got around more than Warren Beatty and Wilt Chamberlain combined, yet still had the dexterity to slash the powder and the competition into shreds.

But then something just happened, and you changed. I still loved you, but I wasn’t in love with you. First, you changed networks on me, and your whole state of mind went awry. I’m not saying ABC and CBS are the superlatives in your presentation, but NBC has just made me want to turn away when you look my way.

Ever since the peacock got a hold of you, you’ve just been sappy. Everything has to be a human-interest story of struggle and perseverance and work ethic, rather than just showing you in all your pure entertainment glory. Whatever happened to the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat? All we have now is the thrill of corporate sponsorship and the agony of bad television.

And now you’re intent on shoving snowboarding down my face. I grant the fact that it is a marginally skilled sport, but honestly, frisbee golf is the only sport that incorporates more horticulture into its training program. Plus, is snowboarding really that popular, or are Mountain Dew and the X-Games just duping us like a bunch of drones?

Really, I know you’re trying, but my waning affection is not from nostalgia. The world has changed, and although there’s been this upsurge in nationalism, you just don’t matter as much as you used to. It used to be about teams and rivalries — now it’s just individuals.

The need to win seemed to be more for country, less for individual fame on the Ice Capades circuit or the endorsement deals. I cared more about the medal counts; it was us versus them.

Is there still hope to salvage this relationship? Hey, that’s up to you. Although your inclusion of professionals into the hockey arena has soured many a hotel room and the honor of a once-great amateur exhibition, it’s still the best sport you offer.

I’m telling you, baby, winter or summer, there is no better sport than your hockey. It’s got that free-flowing style of passing and fluid line changing that just can’t be seen in the NHL. The thuggery of the pro game doesn’t rear its ugly head at the Olympics.

Does it make me still want you? Will it make me come crawling back? Will the image of two Canadians crying a river after losing the gold rekindle our once marvelous love?

Nope, probably not.

I hate to make predictions, but I would bet a couple of my back molars that the Badgers will get torched tonight in Bloomington. The Badgers haven’t walked out of Assembly Hall with a win since 1977.
And while you’re watching the game tonight, ponder this: Who is the most annoying, whining, aggravating sucker of the brothers Fife? I’ll go with Dugan, who more than any other player in Big Ten basketball history had “chump” written all over him.