There seems to always arrive a time when a man becomes conscious of exactly how blind he has been. About pretty much everything. This particular circumstance, and story, is more case-specific, but I assure you, this type of awareness is broader spectrum than people realize. And if someone isn’t willing to admit this, it merely means their “blindness” extends well past even the most recent revolutionary discoveries in optometry.

My eyes were immediately opened to this discernment after studying the front page of avp.com, and realizing how blind I have been, for way too long, when it comes to the most essential entity in our sport; sponsors. And I wouldn’t be bringing it up if it was only me. Most players on tour are truly lost when it comes to sponsors, with zero real understanding of their significance.

I know that sounds crazy, considering the AVP Tour exists solely on the backs of its sponsors. And trust me; the backs of brands like KFC, Bud Light, Johnsonville, Gatorade, Malibu, Paul Mitchell and Wilson are tired. They’ve been carrying us, like Phil carrying Todd, for the duration of our existence, and yet, players across the big yellow board have never appropriately appreciated their importance.

Note—Phil puts on freakish demonstrations of absolute dominance more often than not (Glendale, Beijing, etc.), but Todd is easily the most underrated player in the game. Todd receives every single serve and has to sideout against teams that do nothing but study his every move every minute they’re not on the court with him. It could almost be said that Todd is actually carrying Phil.

Sponsors are our lifeblood, this much is clear, and I’ll be damned if I ever overlook them again. So, in order to better educate myself with each particular brand that has taken on the responsibility of supporting our way of life, I, in a matter of seconds, have decided I will now dedicate one day, sunrise to sunset, of each month, towards completely immersing myself into the world that exists behind the doors of one of our individual sponsors.

For example, if Paul Mitchell was my first target, today would go something like this: Wake up. Go online. Find nearest Paul Mitchell salon. Call to make morning appointment for hair and whatever other services they might provide. Go back to computer. Google “Paul Mitchell Schools.” Locate nearest Paul Mitchell educational institution and plug phone number and address into Blackberry. Return to Google. Enter "Casey Patterson and Ty Loomis." Switch from “Web” to “Images.” Locate photos with close-ups of their hair. Save to Desktop. Send to Photoshop. Zoom in on hair to fully grasp the intricacy of each delicately organized follicle. Take a digital Pomade percentage count from a new program I downloaded from Windows 7. Print photos, in color, and place in over-the-shoulder satchel. Walk to car. Type address of salon into GPS. Look at my hair in rearview mirror. Shake head. Arrive at Paul Mitchell early for appointment in order to ask receptionist to line up all of the stylists next to the desk so I can show them all, one by one, the photos of Casey Patterson and Ty Loomis, asking them if, 1) “Do you know who either of these two Brooklyn Open Champions are?” And 2) “Can you make my hair look as good as theirs?” Find suitable stylist, most likely a petite brunette with impeccable style that frequents Corona Del Mar State Beach and knows both of them personally, and exactly what it takes for hair to look that good. Have hair shampooed, preferably for an exorbitant amount of time, and then cut to the precise increments illustrated in the photos. Examine final product in “mini-mirror” as stylist spins chair for entire salon to see. Thank salon for cooperation, leaving photos on counter top for stylists to show future indecisive male clientele. Head back to car. Call Paul Mitchell Beauty School and make appointment to speak with an admissions counselor. Spend afternoon finding out what it takes to enroll, so I can one day be an expert in “hair artistry.” Thank everyone who was willing to assist me in my Paul Mitchell information quest. Return home and proceed to take three successive showers over the course of three hours so I can test the Awapuhi-ness of my newly purchased Paul Mitchell Awapuhi shampoo and conditioner. Go to bed with a hint of Hawaii in my hair.

Okay, so the second half of the day went by a little faster than the first, sorry. I underestimated how much time I could spend talking about receiving a hair cut similar to Casey and Ty’s. Either way, today isn’t about Paul Mitchell. That’s for another day; although, it seems as though you already know the script. Today is about a different sponsor. A sponsor I personally love, but haven’t visited in more than 10 years. Yes, you read that number correct. It’s been a decade since I enjoyed the supreme deliciousness of the world’s greatest chicken joint, KFC.

During the summer of ’99, just before Y2K caused the world to come to an end, I worked for an organization called Camp Adventure. Most of my time was spent playing dodgeball with elementary school kids, but not at the local “Y,” instead at a naval installation on the other side of the globe, in Manama, Bahrain. While living in the Middle East for three months, surviving 135-degree heat, I got used to three things: air conditioning, movie rentals, and KFC delivery. It was either the Colonel’s chicken or Frisco Burgers from Hardees when it came down to American fast food options and frankly, it wasn’t much of a contest. Yes, you read that correctly, KFC delivered. It was that hot out.

That was the last time I enjoyed the sweet, sweet deliciousness that is a KFC Home-Style Biscuit with warm butter and honey; and to admit this out loud, pains me inside. Fortunately, I’m not afraid to make up for it.

Before I get to the main event, a quick explanation as to why it’s taken me so long to venture back into the land of mashed potatoes, coleslaw, BBQ baked beans, corn on the cob, and, oh yes, fried chicken. You see, when an athlete dedicates himself wholly toward being in the best shape possible, with the hope of improving performance, more often than not, fast food goes by the waste side. Food with no flavor takes over and is followed up with protein shakes that resemble blended vomit. Why we do the things we do, I’ll never be able to sufficiently articulate. But I can articulate, quite easily, why KFC has reentered the consciousness of every health-minded individual, athlete or not, because it only requires three letters: KGC. Or, if you’re not in the know, Kentucky Grilled Chicken.

Kentucky Grilled Chicken has fewer calories, less fat and less sodium than the Original Recipe chicken, and it comes without sacrificing the great taste we’re all used to at KFC. It’s basically a win, win, win. And trust me, after today, I know. This chicken is the real deal.

It all started with a game plan from two of the most KFC-knowledgeable employees at AVP headquarters in Los Angeles (Dario Soto and Jay Reynolds) and included four KFC stops and four KFC meals. You see, in order to make things interesting, the drawn-up itinerary happened to include not only my KFC, but also their local KFCs; in addition to their favorite meal at KFC, so I could make my “day with the Colonel” as authentic as possible. Fortunately for my stomach, the mission kicked off close to home…

11:38 a.m.: First meal of the day. It took a little longer to write the “opening” than expected. Absolutely starving. Location: Irvine. Less than two miles from my house. Meal: 2-piece plate with grilled breast and wing, coleslaw, corn on a cob and home-style biscuit. Glass of water. Employee: Maria. Wasn’t afraid to throw in an extra biscuit. When asked what sport she thought might be associated with KGC, she stopped, looked back at the gentleman rotating chicken as if he heard the question and might know the answer, then returned to me and whispered “NASCAR?” as if it was an answer to a question on Jeopardy.

12:16 p.m. to 2:12 p.m.: Traffic. 73-N to the 405-N, to the 710-N, to the 10-W, to N Soto St., for GPS freak-out session and subsequent U-turn–in East L.A., back to the 10-E, back to the 710-N, exit where freeway ends at West Valley Blvd.

Dario Soto (left) and Jay Reynolds graduating from KGC Culinary Academy in Long Beach, Calif.

2:17 p.m.: Second meal of the day. Location: Alhambra. Dario Soto’s neighborhood. Meal: Dario Soto’s choice. Two legs, one thigh, mashed potatoes & gravy, two home-style biscuits, Littlebucket Parfait. Diet Pepsi. Employee: Joel. Offered me a deal for $3.00 less than original price. Did not recognize Dario Soto after viewing graduation photograph above (Dario and Jay actually receiving Master's Degrees from Long Beach State University). When asked what sport he thought might be associated with KGC, he looked at me and said, “What’s KGC?” I looked behind me for someone else to answer, paused, and then half-stuttered “It’s the grilled version of your chicken. You know, Kentucky Grilled Chicken?” Joel then smiled sheepishly, and said, “Football?” I courtesy-laughed and asked him for two packets of honey for my biscuit.

2:56 p.m. to 5:05 p.m.: Traffic. You think I’m kidding. 710-S to 10-W, to La Cienega Blvd., to Sunset Blvd.

5:13 p.m.: Third meal of the day. Appetite feeling good. Location: Hollywood. Jay Reynolds’ selection, being that he likes to be in the thick of things. Meal: Jay Reynolds’ choice. One breast, one leg, potato wedges, green beans, coleslaw, home-style biscuit (with gravy). Cherry Pepsi. Employee: Roxanna. Offered me a “spork,” and even called it a “spork” twice. For those that don’t know, a “spork” is a fork and spoon hybrid utensil; arguably one of the greatest inventions of the 20th century. Did not recognize Jay Reynolds when shown above photograph. When asked what sport she thought might be associated with KGC, she shook here head vehemently, and refused to even pony up a guess. I didn’t press the point.

Side note: Hollywood’s KFC was by far the most popular of the four KFCs I visited throughout the day. People were lined up out the door and there wasn’t a seat inside the joint readily available for me to relax and enjoy my biscuits.

6:00 p.m.: Gentle stroll down Sunset Blvd taking in the sites. Almost lured into happy hour at “The Body Shop” by friendly bouncer whispering sweet nothings, like, “no cover” and “two free cocktails.” But stayed on course and returned to car for drive to fourth KFC.

7:40 p.m. to 9:05 p.m.: Traffic. Santa Monica Blvd. to the 101-S, to the 110-S, to the 405-S, to the 73-S, to the 55-S, to 17th Street.

9:10 p.m.: Fourth meal of the day. Location: Costa Mesa. Wife’s choice. Meal: Two $5.00 Fill Up Boxes. Each contained one thigh, one leg, mashed potatoes & gravy, one home-style biscuit. Both drinks were iced tea with lemon. Employee: Aracelli. Immediately knew the answer when asked what sport she thought might be associated with KGC, and yelled “Volleyball!” My eyes lit up and I said, “Hey! We have a winner!” She immediately asked what she had won, and I sadly informed her it was just a figure of speech. I continued to ask her about her knowledge of volleyball and she said that her daughter competed at Newport Harbor High and that she frequented Huntington Beach in the summer. Aracelli was most definitely KFC employee of the day, and in recognition of her performance, I gave her a high-ten, which she happily accepted.

10:02 p.m.: Arrived at home. KFC day complete. Feeling good. Microwaved biscuits, which were purchased “to-go” in Costa Mesa, as pre-bedtime treat.

With my initial offering into the land of sponsor-ville complete, what did I learn? KFC is no longer just Kentucky Fried Chicken. KGC is not only a legitimate offering into the world of health-conscious fast food options; it’s a fantastic meal, period. The chicken is marinated, grilled, seasoned with KFC’s famous herbs and spices, and then slow-roasted.

What’s not to love? I could do it all again. In fact, maybe I will.

What you won’t see me doing ever again is overlooking the amazing support a sponsor such as KFC has given our wonderful beach volleyball tour. Elaine Youngs and Nicole Branagh know personally how helpful the Colonel has been to the AVP, now it’s just a matter of time before we all do. It probably didn’t require four meals out of me in one day, across all of Los Angeles County, to figure this out, but then again, why not? I’m alive, and I can.