Asking for an autograph, approaching an athlete away from the stadium or simply wearing a replica jersey -- it's all a bit geeky when you think about it. Generally speaking, I try to avoid these situations; I'm awkward enough without adding the pressure of a forced conversation.

But in the name of a column, I broke my rule over the weekend and went to talk with Cliff Branch, my favorite player when I was a kid, before an autograph session at a mall.

All it did was strengthen my resolve to not do it again.

First, let me explain how I became a Branch fan -- because it's not everyone who chooses a relatively obscure player as their favorite.

My friends took the mainstream route, going with players like Terry Bradshaw, O.J. Simpson, Kenny Stabler (I wanted "The Snake" to be my favorite player, but my friend Pete already had dibs -- no way was I going to have the same favorite player).

So when the next Oakland Raiders game came on the tube -- no one in Northern California was a 49ers fan back then -- I went looking for a player I could call my own. Just when I was about to latch onto Fred Biletnikoff, I saw this flash streak behind the defense for a touchdown.

Envisioning years of long touchdown passes -- I was and still am a sucker for the all-or-nothing types -- I charged to school on Monday and declared Cliff Branch as my favorite player. Expecting pats on the back for making such a wise choice, I got quizzical looks and a round of questions: Why would you pick someone who drops so many passes? Why didn't you pick someone who's better? And of course, a "Who is that?" from a non-Raiders kid.

Amazingly, for once in my life I stuck to my guns and didn't back off my choice.

Now, Branch had a decent career, catching his share of long passes, even making a case to be the MVP of the Super Bowl against the Eagles (which, devastatingly, went to Jim Plunkett). But it's not like he was a great player, or even good enough that I could find one of his No. 21 jerseys to buy.

Still, Branch was my first favorite player, and I stuck with him through the years.

I had never gotten a chance to meet him, even in 14 years as a sports writer, so I thought it'd make a cool column to go out and talk with him about being my favorite player as a kid.

It felt as awkward as Britney Spears as the MTV Music Awards.

The conversation started off with me telling Branch (in what felt like nonsensical sentences) that he was my favorite player growing up. His reaction? A stare. I tried to get him to loosen up by relating a story about my mom meeting him back in Sacramento, when he jokingly told her he wasn't anyone's favorite player, but he stared at me a little more, then said it happens all the time.

I followed with a line of questions about the glory days that got him talking enthusiastically, but that wasn't what I went to the autograph session for. Finally, thankfully, the awkwardfest ended with me saying thanks and Branch going back to signing mini Raiders helmets.

That it went so poorly really shouldn't have surprised me; if you think about the way fans fawn over athletes, it's really silly.

Take autographs. You're asking a person for their signature because they're good at throwing a football or baking a pie and talking about it on TV. Does getting a scribbled name on a scratch piece of paper somehow offer a sense of power, as in "look at me, I forced Brett Favre to sign his name while he was eating a steak!"

Wearing jerseys is just as peculiar. I might understand it if you're under the age of 14, but a grown man walking around in another man's work clothes? Why not eat at Emeril's restaurant wearing the same smock with his name on the front or show up at the doctor's office wearing surgery togs and a stethoscope?

Sound ridiculous? Well, during the Tour Championship on Sunday, Tiger Woods was lining up a shot from the fairway when the cameras showed a dude in the gallery wearing almost exactly the same clothes, from the red shirt and black pants, to the "TW" hat, even the same belt.

That's not just awkward. That's downright creepy.

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LOOSE BALLS

Notre Dame coach Charlie Weis might want to consider pants that don't ride quite so high. Dude looks like "Wimpy" from the old Popeye cartoons. ... This just in: the Cleveland Browns and Cincinnati Bengals have been relegated to the Arena League after their defensive showdown on Sunday. ... RIP Colin McRae, one of the greatest rally car drivers in history. The 39-year-old, who walked away from some horrific crashes during his racing career, was killed along with his 5-year-old son and two others in a helicopter crash over the weekend. Met him once and he was a good guy, despite giving me a mild concussion during a ridealong.

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John Marshall is asap's sports reporter, based in Denver.

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