The Sport of Living

Mon Feb 08 01:20:00 EST 2010 | by Jo Kadlecek

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When I was in second grade, my mom signed me up for little league softball. My older brothers already played baseball on a team in Denver so I couldn't wait to do what they were doing. I showed up at practice with a brand new catcher's glove, ran around the bases with my new friends and swung a wooden bat. I loved playing in the dirt and tossing the ball into the sky. It was a grand introduction to the world of sport.

I suppose my athletic career officially began with that summer softball team, but it didn't end there. The Petry family down the street gave my brothers and me their used skiis each winter so we could tumble down some of Colorado's nearby slopes. In the spring, I took tennis lessons from Mrs. Royal, and in the fall I ran on a neighborhood track team. By high school, I was still playing summer league softball, but I'd added basketball, soccer and cross-country to my schedule as well.  I rarely ventured outside of the gym or field, and didn't know much else existed.
    
In short, I was a typical suburban American kid, hooked on games and competition. I tried hard and played a lot. But I never set any records or won any awards. I never stood out or hit the game-winning goal. I wasn't even on the starting line up of any team I joined.
   
I just liked belonging.

I think it's safe to say now that much of my character, my ability to interact with others, even my sense of discipline and risk-taking, all were shaped in large part because of those early experiences in athletics. In other words, when I struck out, I had to deal with disappointment. When I missed a shot or came in last, I had to learn how to persevere. And when I didn't agree with a coach, I had to accept the reality that maybe older people knew more than I did.

That's the instructive power of sports. Beyond the obvious role they play in keeping our bodies healthy and our minds active, sports push us to find out more of who we are, and who we are not.  They provide the adventures and challenges most of us wouldn't otherwise face in our day to day, and yet lessons we can easily apply to our work or life routines. They invite us to be a part of something bigger than ourselves.

Why else would football fans throw tailgating parties in stadium parking lots? Why else would television stations air play off games or tennis and golf tournaments? Aside from the absurd commercial revenue professional sports brings, today's savvy marketers also know that sports appeal to a basic human element: belonging. Which, I believe, is also what spoils our modern world of sports. For from this place of innocent competition and diligent training, temples are too often built, 'religions' born and athletes worshipped. Quarterbacks become gods, tennis players become stars and coaches become divine businessmen more concerned with almighty dollars than godly character. Sports, like all good gifts, can incite the worst in us as well as the best.

Bury a game beneath advertising ploys, fan clubs and ticket sales, and even the fittest athlete won't be strong enough to save it.
 
A good story, however, can. That's why the task of the sports writer in today's glitzy arena is so critical, and so hard to do well. With Olympic focus, she must uncover the stories of those women and men who play for the pleasure of it, not the status. She must describe how the discipline they endure makes them better people, and the camaraderie they share makes them better citizens. She must report their humanity, so that, in a culture hungry for idols, they do not become divinity. Yes, the noble goal of today's sports-reporter ought to be one that brings us back to those places where underdogs win not because they scored more points, but because they stepped up to the plate at all.

It's a little like signing up our readers for little league softball.