No Big Dance, no MLB ... Trying to make best of this new normal without sports
The best part of a game is just before the game. I’ve believed this as long as I can remember. It’s a big part of why I loved sports in the first place. That and Bo Jackson.
There is that moment in every game, at every level, from the Olympics to the NFL to college basketball to high school baseball. It happens after the coaches have met, after the speeches, after the athletes have warmed up and stretched and dressed and chased and worked. There is nothing left to do but play.
But the play isn’t starting for another minute or two, so all that’s left is to dream. Anything is possible.
In that moment, the favorite will dominate and the underdog will shock. The star will fill highlights and the last guy on the bench will have the game of his life. In some places, they play the same song for those moments. Those songs become part of us. Those songs are played as we drive to games. Those songs are played at weddings.
These moments are most obvious in the bigger events — Usain Bolt stalking to the blocks before the 100 meters, Patrick Mahomes hyping his teammates before the Super Bowl, the pep bands rocking at the Final Four.
But these moments exist everywhere — moms hoping their daughters rise to the moment, fathers praying their sons find success, high school teammates set to make memories they’ll remember when they’re gray.
Those moments are gone now.
They’re suspended indefinitely.
New world view, new challenges
At some point in my adult life, I began to shift the way I looked at the world. There was no mile marker. No life changing event. This did not couple with a near-death experience, or a divorce, or a weight loss, or a tragedy involving someone close.
I wish I had a better origin story for this change.
However it happened, I went from thinking about everything I didn’t have (lots of money, the kind of social life they show on TV, a house on the beach) to cherishing everything I did have (health, two great parents, friends I’d die for). I started to appreciate smaller things, from a friendly cashier to my dog’s excitement to a drive nice enough to open the sunroof.
I hope this isn’t reading preachy. I’ll be mortified if it does. The distance between how I live and how I’d like to live is significant. I don’t thank my wife enough, don’t help strangers enough, don’t keep patience with my kids enough. My life is far from perfect. But I’m trying.
In what seems like a few days, the coronavirus went from this thing they talked about on the news sometimes to the greatest disruption of normal life that most of us can remember. After the towers fell, a lot of us did the opposite of social distancing.
It feels petty and selfish and out of touch to mourn what’s lost in sports. We won’t have Cinderellas or opening day or a tradition unlike any other this month. But does that really matter when people are sick and dying, when hospitals are stretched, when it’s hard to even go to the grocery store without wondering who in the building is carrying this virus without even knowing?
Our new normal is a hell of a challenge.
We’re all affected, even if we’re not infected. Maybe you know someone who is worried. Maybe a friend’s income depends on working security at concerts, or serving at a restaurant, or driving Uber for business travelers. Anyone nearing retirement with savings tied to the market must be horrified.
Even for them — and especially for those of us lucky enough not worry about our next mortgage payment — it’s a relatively small concession in the name of slowing a global pandemic. The health experts have been clear, unanimous, consistent.
But it’s also OK to recognize what’s lost, even if it’s minor. The pros may miss out on some money and a chance to chase accomplishments, but most of them will have more chances. Across the country, thousands of college and high school seniors just had their careers ended by a virus.
This is the best sports month of the year, just ahead of football and playoff baseball in October. Filling out an NCAA tournament bracket is one of the few things America still does together. Baseball’s opening day is a holiday for a lot of us.
We’ll still have that, obviously. At some point. But we don’t know when. All we know is that it won’t feel the same. Won’t be so carefree, so optimistic.
Sports’ superpower is bringing people together. It’s in those moments of possibility. That’s true no matter where you are politically, religiously, geographically or demographically. That’s all gone now. Nobody can know when it will return.
In some ways, optimism has never been so hard to manufacture.
Life goes on, and it is good
The other day, the kids slept longer than usual. When they came into our bed they just wanted to hug. We had breakfast and played with toy trucks and then went to the backyard for baseball.
They climbed onto the fort my father-in-law built and pretended it was a locker room. They took the bucket of balls up there, put their batting gloves on, wished each other luck and came down for some swings.
In the afternoon, we packed bikes into the car and headed to the park. They did laps, they pretended to hunt for treasure, they took more swings. That night, we made popcorn and a fire and watched a movie. We might’ve done all of that anyway. I wish this wasn’t true, but I cherished it a little extra.
I’m typing this from our master bedroom on Saturday. When the kids are home I try to work from a coffee shop or our gym’s lobby. That used to be normal. No more.
A week ago, I was 100 percent sure my workday would be the Big 12 tournament championship. Now, nothing, but I am hearing the boys’ favorite playlist blasting through what must be a heck of a dance party downstairs with their mom.
We’re trying to make the best of it, is the point. We can’t help as much as we’d like, other than staying away from crowds as much as possible. We can buy gift cards from places we like, so they have the cash now and we have the enjoyment later. We can get takeout, and tip like we’re eating there. We can wash our hands. We can be nice to each other.
We could do all of this anyway, to be sure. We should always be nice to each other. But life-altering events do have a way of altering life beyond the moment. Hopefully this sticks. Hopefully I can be more thankful, more helpful, more patient. Hopefully we can all find ways to make the best of it.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, sounds like I have a dance party to get to.