I can remember the first time I watched many of the movies that I consider my favorites. I stood under the sun for hours for Return of the Jedi as an 8-year-old in a line that stretched around the block.

The smell of cloves and cinnamon are still fresh in my memory from sipping chai in Zanzibar as I watched Malcolm X for the first time halfway around the world.

And while tonight's location and surroundings were much more mundane (alone in my living room sprawled out on my favorite chair) I hope that the emotion and power of Ernie Davis' story sticks with me for the rest of my days.

Perhaps I'm a sucker for the melodramatic. In fact, I know I am. I think I've shed tears each and every time Sean Astin scrambles across ...

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