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Sports is the great unifier
in this trouble-prone land
of TheColumnists.com
On another lounging,
lovely September weekend I watched a tough game in a tight baseball
pennant race, caught pieces of a couple of college football games,
watched a little tennis and saw some old fights on ESPN Classic.
My wife was out shopping (she’s discovering new malls in
New Jersey), the grandkids were doing their own things and the
family room pillow was fluffed up just right for the late afternoon
nap.
The morning had been a tough one to take.
Breakfast had been cut short as I read the papers on the balcony
of our new condo because my wife had to beat the neighbors into
the Home Depot storm doors section.
Then came the television news for this CNN junkie.
One sad story after another. Katrina goes on and on, cutting
into your heart with each new development, each new discovery,
and each new fact about the failed FEMA fiasco. Not as many bodies
as predicted. Good news. Just enough bodies to remind us about
the depth of this long-lasting national tragedy to America’s
favorite fun city. Bad news.
Then the note that the Preservation Hall band will re-assemble
in New York. Great. We can see them again. When the “Saints
Go Marching In” to Manhattan, will that end the New Orleans
pain? Not likely.
This happened to be the second Sunday in September--9/11--and
the news hawks then concentrated on producing more pain with
the reading of the names lost four years ago at the World Trade
Center.
One name after another, one tearful brother, sister, father,
mother or even little kid. More pain for a day than most of us
can take.
Enough already. I had to beat the news station before it started
listing the kids killed in Iraq that week. Has there been a good
thing about Katrina? Yes. It has almost removed Iraq from the
news. Are we still there? Maybe, as suggested for Vietnam, we
declared victory and got out.
The channel changer works. I still control the remote. My wife
isn’t even home to battle for it so she can gain more expensive
ideas from the decorating channel.
On to the baseball games.
I have spent my entire professional life, pushing a half century
now, writing about sports, chasing athletes around locker rooms,
ringing bells of ball players in their faraway mansions. Much
fun.
Now most of my sports comes from that great tube in the sky.
On this September weekend I suddenly realized how lucky I was
dealing with the unimportant part of our social structure. Would
the Yankees win? Could the Yankees win? Do I really care? Does
it all really matter?
As I contrasted the news of the day with the sports of the hour,
I quickly accepted the terrible tone of today’s world. Has
it always been that way? Are we more subject to that pain because
of the intensity of coverage?
Didn’t Babe Ruth help people through the Great Depression?
Didn’t the all-St. Louis World Series of 1944 help people
through World War II? Didn’t a Miracle Mets win in 1969
baseball make the sadness of Saigon just a bit easier to take?
Hasn’t it always been that way?
Stand on a street corner, push a beer around a bar or gossip
on a beach. A few people might care about the best books out
this month, the newest plays, the sounds of a concert or even
a political argument if it is that time of year.
But mention a ball player, mention a team, suggest that your
favorite was a lot better at hitting, catching or throwing a
ball than the other guy’s and you will have a more animated
discussion than you will ever have in the liveliest of indoor
parties.
There is something about sports that transcends every other aspect
of American life. We all have our individual interests, our separate
needs, our different ideas of values and standards.
Sports connects us in a way politics never can, news never will,
culture never has. It serves as the great unifier of this great
land of ours, east connecting with west, north combing with south,
nationalities drawn together, races bound as one.
I remember when Jackie Robinson first played for Brooklyn in
1947 and all of us in the Brooklyn streets simply wanted to be
him. We wanted to run and steal and wipe our sweaty hands on
our uniform pants like Jackie.
Jackie bound America together with his presence a lot more significantly
than Martin Luther King ever did.
I used to carry a little chip on my shoulder when I was a young
sports writer. My smarter friends, in business, science, law,
medicine, snickered at the waste of my day in a baseball park,
talking to IQ-challenged jocks or bothering with the numbers
in the games.
They made more money, they lived in bigger houses, they drove
better cars.
I laughed a lot more.
When the news gets almost too heavy to carry, I grab that television
remote, watch that thrilling sports event and bless that teacher
who said I really could do it.
Argue with me if you don’t like sports. Tell me it doesn’t
matter when all the king’s horses and all the king’s
men are having trouble putting our Humpty Dumpty world together
again.
I don’t care about any of that. Give me a good game, a cold
drink, a soft pillow and a quiet house.
©2005 by Maury Allen. The Maury Allen caricature is ©2001
by Jim Hummel. The cartoon is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection,
1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This
column first posted on Sept. 19, 2005.
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