There are certain things that I like that are not so hot among many Oberlin students. Jack Johnson, for one. I can’t explain why, but the man’s voice melts away my worries and just makes me want to rip off my shirt, grab a Corona and kick it in a lawnchair in the front yard. Taylor Swift has a similar effect, except that she makes me want to be a lovelorn 15 year old girl. Can’t have everything, I guess.

Growing up I played three sports a year because a) I had to, and b) I kicked ass. At age 5 my soccer team gave me a standing ovation when I showed up a little late to a game because these kids–myself included–poured their hearts and souls into the game of soccer. It didn’t matter that the team was coed, or that the league didn’t keep score, or that we weren’t actually playing on nets yet. It was the same case for every other sport, too. Sports were law and children abided. Parents didn’t dare keep their children out of a sport for any season for fear that Ken Murphy, the town sports fascist, might start asking questions at the next PTO meeting. Next thing you know half the town’s wondering if you’re in dire financial straits or, heaven forbid, you spawned a homosexual! These things are unacceptable in Hingham, Massachusetts–aka MILF City, aka Brotopia.

It did become acceptable to drop your kid out of ONE sports season if, once puberty hit, he or she developed a reputable talent. This is because parents in Hingham begin discussing college about the time the first zit pops up on their child’s face. And these people know how to get into college. So most parents will begin pushing their children to learn different skills, like drawing or music or exploitation of the weak. A couple might send their son on a trip to Spain to make room for a foreign exchange student (because everybody wants a foreigner that they can show off to their friends) and, when they switch back, the little tyke might bring back a very welcome passion for Spanish guitar. Well, the trip paid off and the kid goes Ivy and then, before you know it, he’s paying for his folks’ retirement in Fort Lauderdale.

Parents recognized when they’d lost the battle with a sport, so all the little ones with chronic asthma were taken off the ice and given a piano to pass the time with. But they did not get to take another season off. I was one of the majority stock that never learned a skill of repute. I can’t play an instrument, I can’t sing, I can’t act, I can’t draw. So I played sports. And through sports I grew to appreciate the adrenaline rush from chasing frantically after a guy kicking a ball, and learned that the greatest compliment one can ever receive is a firm slap on the ass after a solid RBI single.

So it came to pass that I bought into the sports culture and started rocking loose-tongued Timbalands with sweatpants and a pseudo-flannel for the rest of my adolescent life. With the style came the tastes and I found myself chasing the sweet, narcissistic girls who would flirt your face off all night when they were drunk but then never mention it again. I am very easily negatively impressed, so when girls started breaking my heart I started ridiculing them, and my bros and I passed four years of lunches complaining about women’s suffrage and ordering our various female acquaintances to make us sandwiches. (Note: I don’t really have a problem with women voting.)

There’s a very brief summation of my life up to this point. Today, my appreciation of Jack Johnson’s music is complemented by an ardent desire to take the sleeves off all my t-shirts, and wear my flat-brimmed Red Sox hat tilted up just like my boy Sam Adams. These things had been staples in my life until I arrived at Oberlin. It seems, however, that the things I like are decidedly “not cool” here. Which makes no sense because to everyone living outside the zip code of 44074 (approximately 6,692,022,277 people) that’s all hot shit! I love you people, but you make me look crazy sometimes.

So now that you know a little about me, I’d like to invite you into the world of Broberlin, where everything that I once considered “normal” is suddenly offbeat, weird, even. Episode 1 of the Brofiles: Nick and the Sauna Veteran will be here shortly.