I blog about my experiences every week. But rarely does someone else blog about me, so when it happens (once, and counting), it's a reason to link. In his most recent blog on espnthemag.com, our Editor-in-Chief Gary Belsky writes about my discovery of The Madden Jinx and its affect on the NFL zeitgeist. Cool.

To read my original post about this year's cover boy, Brett Favre, click here.

This weekend, I went to my first Stanley Cup playoff game. It was part of my season-long, self-imposed program centered around becoming a more well-rounded Pittsburgh fan. And a more educated hockey fan. Man, I picked the right season. Detroit may be more experienced, but I don't think there's a more fun team to watch than the Penguins. Maybe in any sport. However, I didn't pick the right game.

I flew to Pittsburgh Friday night completely sure the Pens were going to pull off a game-three victory. My prediction: 2-1, Pens. I had no doubts. My team always wins. There was the year, not too long ago, when the Gators won the national basketball championship, the Steelers won the Super Bowl, the Gators won the national football championship and the Gators won the national basketball championship, back-to-back-to-back. I've had a good run as a fan. So as I walked into Mellon Arena, credential around my neck, I was feeling pretty confident.

But then something strange happened. My team didn't win.

I was okay with that, though. I had a great time, experienced my first in-person playoff hockey game (thanks to editor Mark Giles, Lindsay Berra and the gracious folks at the NHL) and did my share of silent press-box cheering right along with 17,000 crazy Pens fans. (Bias aside—or not—I think Pittsburgh has the best sports fans. And not just because I'm one of them.) And I got the chance to spend a relaxing Sunday on my grandparents' horse farm in nearby Sarver, PA, and visit with family. All in all, not a bad weekend.

Besides, it was only game four. Go Pens!

THIS PRE-GAME PROJECTION HAD PENS FANS HYPED ...

BEST WAY TO GET OVER A LOSS? NICE WALK ON A FARM ...

Reporting From ... The Red Bull K-Rob Experiment

Records are meant to be broken. In most sports, records are also meant to be revered, discussed at length and argued about heatedly after one too many beers at the corner pub. A record is not, however, meant to be humbly handed over out of respect for the athlete who is attempting to break it. Last night, I believe that is what I witnessed. And, although I also believe this will be argued about by sport purists in the days to come, it was perhaps one of the most impressive feats of sportsmanship I have ever encountered.

But first, to fully understand what took place, you’ll need a bit of back-story:

Mat Hoffman is a BMX rider credited with fathering the sport of freestyle BMX as it is known today. He is the first action sports athlete we put on the cover of ESPN The Magazine, back in August 2005, when we called him The Toughest Man in Sports. In the early 90s, in an attempt to push his sport beyond its unspoken boundaries, Hoffman began building 20-foot-tall quarterpipes (what are now referred to as super-quarterpipes) in his backyard in Edmond, Okla. On these ramps—the precursors to today’s mega-ramps—Hoffman began setting height records on his bike. More than once, he nearly killed himself in the attempt. But his most recent world record of 26 ½ feet above a 23-foot-tall ramp has stood since 2004.

Kevin Robinson is a 36-year-old BMX rider who’s ridden for Hoffman Bikes for 16 years. “Mat took a chance on me,” Kevin says. “I was a skinny, 120-pound kid from Rhode Island, but he saw something in me.” Robinson has since competed in every X Games since its inception in 1995 and distinguished himself as one of the best BMX vert and mega-ramp riders in the world. On Thursday night, in a tribute to his mentor, Robinson attempted to break Hoffman’s world height record. “Mat doesn’t get enough credit for inventing the mega-ramp,” Robinson said. “I’m dedicating this jump to him.”

The state-of-the-art ramp, which featured a 40- and 60-foot roll-in and a 27-foot-tall quarterpipe—and million-dollar-plus production budget—was a far cry from the days of Hoffman’s self-built ramps and motorcycle tow-ins. But even with technology Hoffman could have only dreamed of in 1992, Robinson was falling short. After a few attempts, and few hard falls, it looked like he might not break Hoffman’s record after all. The TV window had ended and the crowd was growing restless. At this point, an announcer informed the crowd that the measuring device was not working, and that, instead, video cameras would be placed at the top of the smaller, 40-foot roll-in across from the quarterpipe and Kevin’s height would be determined by a committee also seated on the roll-in. The committee chairman: Mat Hoffman.

On his next attempt, Robinson landed cleanly and awaited his height. “The official height is 26 feet, seven inches,” the announcer said. He’d beaten the record by one inch. Not satisfied, Robinson made one final attempt, and again rode away clean. Official height: 27 feet, his pre-set goal.

After the event, I spoke to Hoffman. He said he wasn’t happy with the way the height was being recorded—by cameras placed higher than the record height, which skewed their point of view. “They were making it impossible,” he said. “To me, too much gets lost in the number. A record is about pushing the sport and doing something no one else can. That’s how it should be graded. So I took control. I told them I would form a committee, go up to the top of the roll-in, and tell them how high he was. I didn’t want anyone else telling him when he’d broken the record.”

But, an inch? That’s some precise eyesight.

“I’m good,” Hoffman said. “We’re a tight committee.”

THE RECORD ATTEMPT ...

I spent last weekend in South Lake Tahoe reporting a story on Jamie Anderson, a 17-year-old professional snowboarder who's just about unbeatable in a slopestyle contest. She is number five in a family of eight children and invited me out to spend a few days experiencing what it's like to grow up in such a large household. By the time I left Tahoe, I had a bit of a headache, too many hours of tape to transcribe, and this memory ...

Sunday night, I went with Jamie and her family to watch her little brother Joey, 13, play the second of two Babe Ruth baseball games that day. Their first game, earlier in the day, was against the number-two team in the league. Joey's team, the Angels, are the number-one team and mercy ruled their opponents 15-2. They were home after five innings. They had made their dads proud.

At the night game, the Angels were confident. And tired. It was Father's Day and they had likely all spent the remainder of their day at family celebrations. The other team was playing their first game of the night, and they were excited to make their dads proud, too. By the top of the third inning, the Angels (the visiting team) were ahead 9-2. It looked like the mercy rule might be invoked yet again. But the home team held on. They held the Angels. And in the sixth, they scored a couple runs. And started to believe. The catcher stopped kicking dirt every time he let a ball slip past him, and instead began to lead his infield. I, of course, was supposed to be rooting for the Angels. But I could see what was happening and couldn't help but cheer a little—on the inside, of course—for the comeback kids. The Angels had become complacent. And they'd fallen asleep.

Heading into the bottom of the 7th and final inning, the Angels were ahead by only two runs. By the end of the inning, they'd lost their seven-run lead, and the game 10-9. Hats were thrown. Dirt was kicked. And lessons were learned.

One of my best friends is a regular contributor to this blog. Those of you who stop by here regularly, or know me at all, know who I'm talking about. Well, her grandpa has a saying. Actually, he has several sayings. But at this moment, I was thinking of one in particular. Now, her grandpa isn't a philosopher, or a poet, or a religious leader by trade. Yet, in many ways, he is all of the above. His philosophies are simple, yet profound, and more applicable to life than anything you'll read in the latest self-help manual. And they're definitely more well-known.

As I walked away from the field, I heard several dads on both sides of that game passing down the philosophies of my friend's grandpa to their sons. "Son," they said. "It ain't over 'til it's over."

How cool.

It's Olympic Trials time. So for all you gymnastics fans who will be glued to the tube this weekend, here's a preview of some of the top men and women to watch. The story's up now on ESPN.com, but since it won't be for long, check out the women's preview HERE and the men's HERE. Hope it helps!

Disclaimer: The following is a Facebook-inspired blog entry …

In 1994, the year I was applying to college, the University of Florida was voted the number-one party school in the country. I had my mind pretty well set on UF, so I only applied to a few other schools (Penn State, because I was a lifelong fan and wanted the acceptance letter; Florida State, because I still wanted to play softball and Miami, because they offered me an academic scholarship and it would make my parents happy) and I was accepted at all of them.

I remember the conversations that year as I tried to convince my parents (especially my dad) that UF was tops in more than just partying. (It was.) And that, once he started going to football games because his cheerleader daughter would get him tickets, he would learn to love Coach Spurrier and the Gators. (He did.) But still, I felt the resistance.

Until my parents began conducting their own independent research of UF’s journalism program. “Wow, they’re one of the best in the country,” my dad said in his concession speech. At that point, his tune changed. He began telling people his daughter was going to "one of the top-10 journalism programs in the country” instead of “that party school four hours north of here.”

When I graduated in 1999 and entered the real world, I remember meeting folks who had gone to J-schools that, on paper, were supposed to be much fancier than the one I’d just graduated from. But I was certain I was more well-prepared than they were. (Some of my colleagues had never heard of an AP Stylebook. I mean, come on.) Because I felt so game-ready, the New York City magazine world wasn't intimidating. It was exciting. And I was proud to tell people I was a Florida grad.

I started thinking about this lately. Over the past few years, I've reconnected with many of my UF classmates while reporting at games and, most recently, through Facebook. So, as final proof that my parents allowed me to make the right decision, I did some research and compiled a list of what a few of my extremely successful friends and classmates from the University of Florida J-school are currently up to. Surprisingly, we did not have a sports-writing program at UF. We did, however, have one terrific sports-writing class, a kick-ass "independent" school paper (The Alligator) and many willing teachers at the Gainesville Sun, Ocala Star Banner and Williston Sun (I worked at all three, and learned so much from my editors at each paper)…

Andrea Adelson is a sports columnist for the Orlando Sentinel (and the wife of my good friend, ESPN The Mag senior writer and alyssaroenigk.com columnist, Eric Adelson).

Spencer Fordin covers the Baltimore Orioles for MLB.com.

Israel Gutierrez is a sports columnist/enterprise reporter for the Miami Herald and a regular on ESPN's Around the Horn.

Jacob Luft writes an SI.com column called Inside Baseball.

Andy Staples writes an SI.com column called Inside Recruiting.

Jamey Eisenberg is the senior fantasy writer at CBSSportsline.com.

Erin Andrews is a sideline reporter for ESPN.

And I am a senior writer at ESPN The Magazine.

Fred and Joy ... I rest my case.

..... Wait. That's not all! Here are a few more success stories, submitted by Spencer Fordin:

Please, allow me to continue to beat the drum for UF's Journalism program (and more specifically, the Alligator's sports section from 96-99)...

Steve Gorten covers hockey and wears bad bandannas for the Sun Sentinel.

Greg Auman covers colleges and writes for the St. Petersburg Times.

Izzy Gould covers preps and who knows what else, also at the St. Pete Times.

Ryan Hunt toils behind the scenes as an editor for SI.com's baseball section.

Monique Walker is kicking ass and taking names at the Boston Globe—or was the last time I spoke with her.

Robbie Neiswanger is covering football for the Clarion Ledger in Mississippi.

Carlos Frias has authored a book and is still writing at the Palm Beach Post ... until he decides he's bored with journalism and ready to dominate another field.

Christie Cowles works at MLB.com and is still one of the nicest people on the planet.

Many apologies to anyone I may have forgotten -- and much respect to perhaps the best of us, Daryl Presgraves, who has moved on to greener pastures.