i hate watching most sports

its true, i cant really sit down for any length of time and watch other people play sports when im decent at so many of them. i never understood being a sports fan the way everyone around me growing up did, i watched them watching with slavish devotion, hanging on every error or heroic block. listing off statistics of the greats went on for hours and the room became heavy with the sweat of gym socks and gatorade even if we were riding in the car.
but i was lucky enough to be sitting at the table recently with a man who i admire and revere as one of the best human beings i will ever have the chance to know. he is the father of a good friend of mine, and the occasion was a somber one. his youngest son has lost his girlfriend the day before in a horrible accident, a girl who craig would tell us over the course of the next few days meant more to the rest of his life than any of us had estimated.
well it was the day after her death and craig was with his girlfriends family and at the request of my good friend, the eldest son, i found myself at the house i have spent so many days and nights at, sitting across the table from their father. talking about craig, asking what i could do and trying i vain not to be fed, the man who ive seen in so many other wonderful lights spoke up to say that he had lost his best friend in high school. the next few minutes were something i will never forget as long as i live. " i could always hit and run, whistle right before i batted to get some cheerleaders attention and knock one out of the park.... i could always play and nothing could touch me just throwing and running all day, i could do that that i could do and.. " it is here where the tears welling up in his eyes became too many to keep to himself and he reverently excused himself from the table. the simplicity, the focus and the gift of solace that baseball had given him were understood and he told the story so quietly and evenly
i drove home thinking about all that this might mean. the three and four hour practices when you dont have time to think about all you have lost and the gift that was given to his sons in the form of a game of men and boys stepping out into the rest of their lives ..i thought of my own father and the disappointment and elation that were interchangable based on my own performance on the field as a child. i understand now that the gift of loving something comes to twice maybe three times in a lifetime, it might be a type of person, a place with water nearby or the warming spring days in the freshly cut outfield, heaving balls into home plate. i understand now that watching these games that the finest athletes of our time play and battle in, these are parts of ourselves battling and rattling off other men, and heaving chests and tired legs mean nothing when this much is at stake.