February is normally kind of a down month for news. Usually there’s not much going on, which means columnists, like myself, have a lot less to talk about.

But this February seems to be an exception. There’s almost too much to talk about right now.

For example, I could write lengthy and emotional essays about the petition circulated by faculty on the current ISU administration. I could go on for hours about how ridiculous it is to invalidate someone else’s point by saying they’ve been complaining for too long.

I could go on and on about the university. And I will. But not today.

Today, it’s Valentine’s Day.

There’s something that I’ve wanted to say for a long time, but I’ve just never gotten around to it. I never thought it was the right time, and I didn’t want to screw up the message by writing it in the wrong way.

But I’m not going to have this column for too much longer, so I better get this off my chest now:

Paul Shirley, will you be my valentine?

It’s OK if you say, “No.” After all, you don’t know me. We’ve never actually met. But at least hear me out.

When we both came to Iowa State, Paul and I had a lot in common. Sure, he’s 6-foot-9 and I’m only 5-foot-2; he’s a successful Division-one basketball player and I was a third-string guard on my eighth-grade team.

But we were both in the freshman honors program. We’re both National Merit Scholars. We both know Steve Farrell … well, I know him, and Paul was in an honors seminar with him freshman year, so that’s at least something.

Even though you didn’t know it, Paul, you’ve influenced my college career, and I can’t leave Iowa State without telling you how.

During freshman year, my friends and I all thought it was cool that an honors student was on the basketball team. We were always pestering Steve to introduce us to Paul, but he never would, because he thought it would be embarrassing. (Bet you’re wishing you had just introduced us, huh Steve?)

On Feb. 15, 1997, a bunch of us went to an away basketball game at Kansas State. We christened ourselves the “Paul Shirley Fan Club,” and we waved signs and posters of Paul throughout the game.

The Paul Shirley Fan Club continued during sophomore year, and we passed on the tradition to freshmen. We told them about how great Paul was and how they should all cheer for him, too.

My junior year, my roommate Juli and I decided it would be fun to incorporate Paul into our answering machine. Our message said, “Hi, you’ve reached 296-6327. If you’d like to leave a message for Sara, Juli or Paul Shirley, please do so after the beep.”

We thought it was pretty funny, but someone who heard it told Paul about it, and now he thinks we’re crazy. (Although, I don’t think he ever knew who the “Sara” on the answering machine was. Until now. Oh well.)

I know, I know. My Paul Shirley stories are not a lot to go on. It’s not exactly like I have some cosmic connection with him that would make him think, “Hmmm, I should call up that Sara Ziegler.” Again, he has no idea who I am.

But Paul, I think you’re cool. I think it’s cool that you can master being a successful athlete and a successful student. I think it’s cool that at basketball games you stand up and coerce the Hilton crowd into cheering even when you’re on the bench. I think it’s cool that you play with emotion and can defend Eric Chenowith better than anyone has all season. I think it’s cool that you use the word “mastodon” in a sentence during a postgame interview.

I’ve admired you from a distance since freshman year, and it’s time I finally told you.

This might sound like a stupid, eighth-grade crush, and maybe it is, but I’ve always regretted not disclosing my feelings to the guy I had a crush on in eighth grade.

I might be taking advantage of my column today. I probably shouldn’t be using it to announce my infatuation with a basketball player.

But it’s Valentine’s Day, and there’s so little romance in the world. Even if Paul reads this and thinks I’m insane, at least he’ll know that he’s made a difference in the lives of a few people at Iowa State.

Besides, the least I should get out of this “editor in chief of the Daily” gig is a chance to make a fool of myself. So Paul, if you’re reading, will you be my valentine?

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Sara Ziegler is a senior in journalism and political science from Sioux Falls, S.D. She is editor in chief of the Daily. She prefers daisies to roses, and she loves chocolate.