Good sport!

Good sport vs. Good Sports!

Ya know it’s pretty amazing living so long. You get to see things and your observational equations are based on so much more fact than the younger crowd. Not to mention your raging hormones have settled into a more sensible pace and are less inclined to make you go screaming off into the night with half-cocked exuberance. Now don’t get me wrong, there are times that those sudden explosions of adrenaline and stupidaline make for very enjoyable times. For example, when you are able to cash in the ticket for a well tanned body that smells good to do the Olympic horizontal bop with or to grab a fingertip catch and go running past your buddies who are in the same throws of immortal hormonal ecstasy.

That was the setup….now stick with me here….

I live in New England. My father and my brothers were brought up on Red Sox, Celtics and Patriots. Not so much with the Celtics but we have learned to live with coming up short. Losing years and years hardened us and made us tough. It’s ok we told ourselves, it makes us more prepared to eek out the long cold blizzard/ice storm filled Winters, the monsoon Spring rains with biting blood sucking bug clouds, the blistering muggy mid Summer dog days and the all too short beautiful Fall who heralds the coming of old man Winter coming to put a piece of cordwood up sides your head for not cutting and splitting enough to get you through. To us the plight of the Red Sox or the Patriots was nothing more short of adamant camaraderie. People stuck in a lifeboat together who depend on each other to survive in the dangerous waters of New England, one would be scanning the horizon to find an island or ship, one to bail the foul water thus removing the threat from within and keep us afloat. Another neighbor would be captain and say the right thing removing the doom and gloom from our hearts at the dark hour. Then there is the one that keeps rowing. His hands are blistered and bloody but as long as he rows the hope is kept lit.

These are real people and they have become as close as shadows. They each take a stand and support each other. One standing alone would fail and the society of the region would come crashing down in depression and failure. Now don’t get me wrong the environment and history makes these individuals elevated just above mortal man for most would wither under the stress and onslaught of nature and sports fickle finger of fate.

Other franchises celebrated wins and toasted their warriors with lavish abandon. They heaped praise on them and proclaimed them darlings and uber men who are products of their regions. While we in hushed tones talked of our heroes and their fearlessness in the face of overwhelming odds. LOOK! They still take the field knowing the outcome is all but written. Who are we? So comfortable stuffing Fenway Dogs in our mouths and sitting in stands not being subjected to a forearm into the chops or a kick in the twins, do we not suffer the greatest? We suffered the losses with them and we were the ones holding them up and somewhere deep and hidden we knew that someday the path to pandemonium would receive it’s first frost, that that trickle commonly referred to as Styx would run bone dry, that Celtics magic would escape the Garden’s walls and imbed itself in the psych of the winless weary. Oh how the taste of victory will be ambrosia so very alien to our tongue.

We were not alone. There were a few other franchises that also thirsted for a winning season. But I cannot talk for them. I can only issue a “Hold on to your dreams” motivational report. And a caution…. do not think the clouds part and golden manna drops from the heavens in cloudbursts threatening to cover us to the eyeballs in glory and success with a winning season. Its fruits are not all palatable. While it’s true that an initial giddiness will have you floating it will not be long before arms reaching up will yank you back to the wet stickey earth from which you came. The pity will be that some of those arms will be of those you shared the lifeboat with. Like the character in Jaws that stated that after his USS Indianapolis was torpedoed and they had spent a ungodly amount of time in shark infested water being picked off by the waterwolves he was most scared when the rescuers arrived believing he was to die with his saving grace within reach. These are the thoughts and the sentiments of the New England fan. The years of living with defeat has ingrained a deep belief that the waterwolves circle our troop 24/7/365. That as soon as we reach for our brass ring the ginsu blades of past defeats spring out to teach us sudden malicious humility. It will take years to overcome this Pavlov like reaction to success.

My father never got to see his Red Sox take the trophy. I did make sure to go to his resting place and tell him of his boys of summer. I told him of the Patriots and their own March to Glory. Maybe to be repeated soon! Go Patriots! I also had to tell him of my observation that fans everywhere love a loser and hate a winner if they are not their own. How fans eat their own when presented with abnormal results. How the most dangerous time is when the goal is in sight and the common result of sliding past it in blind haste and wanton forward movement. How the time to savor a moment is sadly but a moment.

And all I could think was you knew the prize because it was ahead of you and you could see it clearly. When we had it it was too close to see clearly and in seconds it was in back of us. We were on to the next one too far ahead to see clearly. Was another wait of 86 years too far to see across? Would the Patriots cheer in the Tricentenial before another Lombardi Trophy? In some ways I would wish it is so. I believe we are stronger when losing. Then the cream pie of reality smacks me in my gob and I realize that these accomplishments are for me and me alone. Sure I’ll share them with my father who does not need to see the underside. And by sharing these things with him I too do not have to deal with my cannibalistic Patriot fan brothers or my enemy combatants entrenched in their own little regionalist camps.

So all in all love your family, love your team…. win or lose, love life and laughter, love your pets and those struggling to make life bearable and those just struggling. Pay attention to the importance of things and the brevity of it all. Don’t let me, or anyone else tell you how to live and love. Discover that all on your own. A diploma, a roman collar or a ring does not make a prophet or a hero. If you have decided what you will be and what you stand for you can take the kaTHUMPS and kaBLAMS that life will throw at you and you will be rewarded by the knowledge that you stood before it all and kept standing through it all. Relish the lows and the highs for they each did their best to bend you and have in turn strengthen you in places you do not and may never realize.

Reality has a place here and by saying that I assure you that the Red Sox, Celtics, Bruins and the Patriots are gonna kick your sorry ass sometime in the future. Deal with it. I’m just gonna sit here and think of how I am gonna deal with it when your boys take the stick to us. Oh yeah the Celtics and Bruins will emerge from their recent doldrums too. A little Bird tells me so.

Go Red Sox….Go Patriots….Go Celtics….Go Bruins!!

As for how someone else sees a game or a season it’s all video craps!