First I must apologize for this column before I begin. I know that because this column appears on the sports page, most readers expect it to have something to do with sports.

Unfortunately, recent losses by important football teams have taken my enthusiasm away from this column, and I was forced to search for a subject to write about.

After hours of deep concentration, the kind that borders on the edge of unconsciousness, I found some inspiration from Marcia Keele’s article about students and their relationships with their cars.

My relationship with my car began this summer when I discovered an advertisement for it in a Wheels for You issue. Two weeks after discovering the ad, I became the proud owner of a 1994 Ford Mustang GT.

The car had been totally tricked out. It had been lowered and inch in a half, had 17-inch chrome wheels, a loud exhaust, and an almost perfect paint job. It embodied everything a car should be to an 18-year-old male.

The parents approved of the gas mileage and the airbags. I loved everything else about it. Acceleration effectively pushes a rider back into his seat, and the sound of the exhaust can only be compared to tonal bliss.

Upon entering, the bucket seats wrap around a passenger in ways that vinyl bench seats could never match. A 5-speed manual transmission provides a challenge and entertainment when cruising Burlington on a school night.

Over Christmas vacation, my dad and I basically went through the entire car making an array of upgrades. The car could not be more ready for college. It even has an in-dash Alpine CD player.

Speaking of CD players, the music blasted through the Alpine could most closely be identified as “alternative.” Some of the favorite bands include, Blink-182, The Early November, Taking Back Sunday, Hawthorne Heights, Brand New, Something Corporate, and Dashboard Confessional. When CD’s run out, 88.1 takes over and fills in the gaps whenever the sounds of the 5.0 liter motor get old.

The radio has been permanently tuned to 88.1 ever since I took one of their ads too seriously and tore the tuning knobs off the radio. The mental lapse may prove depressing when I move away from the Hastings area this summer.

Speaking of alternative music, I play guitar in a band called Down by Three. Although the band has made no public appearances for about five months, I still play my guitar on a daily basis. My guitar has become an alternative to homework and a way to annoy my family and neighbors. There is little that can be done, however; the guitar just begs to be played.

I have found no replacement to a well-written guitar riff and discovering such musical miracles helps to soothe the soul. To maintain “the look” while jamming, I added reflective-tape racing stripes to the all-black paint on my Epiphone Les Paul.

Speaking of racing stripes, I believe my rambling column, which in no way relates to the sporting world, must come to a dramatic close. So remember, Mustangs are the coolest cars ever made, punk rocks rules the universe, and racing stripes look cool on much more that race cars. Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.