Not all of the losses on the island are life-shattering. The
absence of live televised sports may not catastrophic except for those who work
in the business (or who run sports books in Vegas – scant sympathy for them
here). But in a world that is now governed by diversions, the sports-shaped
hole is irksome at best.
For those of you to whom one ball is the same as another, I
give you full license to scroll away. I hope you’ll come back tomorrow when this
current fit of madness has passed. And Lynn, I will eagerly anticipate your
statement about the hockey game breaking out at a fight, which has become something
of a ritual between us.
I enjoy sports, I will confess. In another lifetime I was a
fair little athlete (‘little’ being the operative word). Now I find compelling
enjoyment in almost any soccer or hockey match you offer me, a bit less so in
basketball or football (don’t talk to me about golf). But any game with a set
of rules and structure will lead me on an obsessive quest to master an
understanding. One rainy weekend in London I even forced myself to learn the
rules of cricket during an England-India test match. I must confess I have not
yet figured out rugby, but I was trying gamely when the Six Nations League went
dark.
My rooting interests are complex. I will cheer for any
Boston team and most from Pittsburgh (where I was born) unless they are playing
Boston. Anybody who beats the Yankees is okay in my book (unless it is the Cincinnati
Reds – I have still not forgiven them for 1975). The Mets are okay, although
they beat my Sox in 1986, because they gave me such joy in ’69. If there is no
rooting interest or historic villain, I will root based on some imaginary gallantry.
Oh, and I always want the bull to win in PBR. You get the idea.
All of which leads me to the shocking statement that I am rather
enjoying the replays of old sporting events that have attempted to fill the gap.
After all, all sports are based on memories. I love the Red Sox because my
grandfather and my brother did. I love the Bruins because I met them when I
moved to Boston and had no other friends. Every play of every game reminds me of
a play I have seen before or of someone who shared the moment. It doesn’t
matter if I’ve seen the game. The emotions remain the same.
Someday, we’ll root for new players and crown new champions.
But for now, I will still get up and holler when Christian Laettner scores THAT
basket against Kentucky, even though I have cheered it in the same way hundreds
of times before.
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