Normalcy. Big word these days.

Before last Tuesday, I never liked the word. It sounded too … psychiatric.

Some word that’s always ready to pop up in oversized, neon green letters on a daytime talk show.

Dr. Phil or whoever consulting a weeping woman about her misplaced Persian rug, armed only with his catch phrases of the moment.

Claire, you need to return to normalcy. You need to bring closure to these events. Because frankly you have issues.

Well, now we do have issues.

Now I want banality. Now we need to return to some semblance of normalcy.

Now, I love the word. Normalcy, normalcy, normalcy.

Say it aloud with me: NORMALCY.

Didn’t that feel good?

Sure it did. But even though we crave it, we must wait for it.

After all, NORMALCY EXPECTED TO RETURN SATURDAY OR POSSIBLY NEXT WEDNESDAY.

No.

So the following are sport scenarios I view as normal.

Normal is Yankees fans breaking out into Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” after a World Series win.

Normal is Tim McCarver an hour earlier comparing Derek Jeter’s stolen base with some obscure one Ty Cobb had in 1915 – which as Tim will tell you: “Is the year he swiped 96 bags.”

Staying with the Yankees in the Series (a big part of the return to the way we were), normal is Mariano Riveria on the mound, blowing air into his cupped hand; his cheeks popping out like Louis Armstrong on the trumpet.

Normal is Jeff Gordon hopping out of his Chevrolet, climbing on his Du Pont hood, and celebrating his Kmart 400 win with a swig of Pepsi.

Normal is the Grambling marching band’s drum major scraping so much sky with his high step it doubles as a bicycle kick Pele would envy.

Normal is the student dripping a red “I” on his chest at the Nov. 24 Iowa game; he’s warmed not by the school spirit on his pecs but the “Pride of the Cyclones” in his belly.

Normal is any hockey player sustaining a broken rib, a punctured lung, glaucoma, a dog bite, or a run-in with the Zamboni and still not missing a shift.

Normal is the pop star of the day professing she was nervous when lip-syncing the national anthem at the Super Bowl. “It was such a big step for me in my career,” she admits in an interview later, wearing only the game’s spread.

Normal is mid-October and sadly finding the Cubs absent from it.

Normal is Al Michaels saying “And Emmitt Smith takes it to the 44,” while Dennis Miller says “Speaking of `44 …”

Normal is the entire population of Kentucky going “Huh?”

Normal are eyes so droopy on Temple coach John Chaney he trips over them.

Normal is ABC’s Curtis Strange reminding golf fans that September and the Podunk Classic is an important time for any sucky golfer who is trying to keep his tour card.

Normal is peering past the turkey to the Cowboys game. Shaq dunking on Christmas day. A European guy winning a CART race on Memorial Weekend.

And to be sure, normal is taking back my crooked putter and sinking a four-foot right-to-left downhiller.

And hopefully one day, normal is me caring only about sinking my next one.

Paul Kix is a junior in journalism and mass communication from Hubbard