A few years ago, I listened to my friend Stacey Foley discuss her rugby closet. She casually mentioned it as if everyone had one. "I grabbed blank jersey from my rugby closet." I thought she was a crazy person. I know she was an Eagle, but who the hell lets themselves get so out of control they need a whole closet to contain their rugby crap? I do. That's who.
When I moved to New Jersey, I finally separated my rugby gear from my normal clothing into a big purple plastic tub. I quickly discovered that only my jerseys fit in there. Actually, only the short sleeved ones. Then I got a new USA jersey for Christmas and knew I needed a linen chest for my gear so it would all fit in one place.
I got the shorts and all the jerseys in there, along with a few of my various team windbreakers, but there isn't one cubic inch of space for my tall socks. And while I'm combining things into one location, I really should store my practice sweatpants, ear warmers, and cold weather gear in the same storage unit.
Now that we have a ginormous apartment in Pittsburgh, I have my very own closet in my office where I intended to store files and other doodads in addition to my cleats and balls and rugby stuff. Only it doesn't fit in there anymore. I have overflowed a closet and still have the chest full of shorts and socks. Where am I going to put my Under Armor?
Do normal people have problems like this? Only when new people come over to visit do I find myself shocked by the choices Corey and I have made to pursue our passions. Obviously he has to keep two bikes in the living room. They would never all fit in his office. Where would he store his rollers and bike tools? We each have a second chest of drawers for sport-specific attire in addition to "normal" athletic clothes like mesh shorts and plain t-shirts for everyday wear.
We are one kayak away from looking like a Dick's Sporting Goods nestled in Highland Park. Some day very soon we are going to die in one of two ways: we will either strangle ourselves on the bike tires dangling from the ceiling or puncture an artery stepping on the spare cleat studs sprinkling the apartment floor.