The beginning of the York Fair reminds me of my first introduction to the event in 1992. They had bungee jumping that year at the fair.

One day, I went to lunch with a group of fellow Evening Sun reporters. This was our routine. I want to say we were at the Little Red Schoolhouse or the old Blue and White downtown. The discussion turned to the bungee jumping at the fair.

As the only sports reporter in this group, I did not have to cover the fair. Everyone else was assigned to one day of fair coverage. I took this opportunity to declare that if I did have to spend a day at the fair for work, I would totally bungee jump and write about it.

Someone at the table said, “Well, I’m covering the fair this afternoon. I’ll give you a ride so you can do it.”

My big mouth had caused trouble before. This time, however, an extra layer to the story – I had a huge crush on the person who dared me to put my money where my mouth was.

So I got in that now familiar blue Dodge Colt, scared shitless, but also worried that I could never ask this girl out if I backed out on this.

We made it to York, I kept true to my word, and we spent the rest of the day hanging out together at the fair. A week or so later, we started dating for real.

Little did I know that the bungee jumping boast would be the first of many, many, many times where my wife would call me on my BS.