Why Sports Matter

     So, sports don't matter? Tell that to the seventeen year old kid from the wrong side of the tracks who is trying to make it in life. This isn't such a sure thing. He lives with his grandmother since his mother has ditched the family and he has never met his father. His two older brothers have been in and out of the prison system for slinging drugs. He probably would have gone down the same path if it weren't for his commitment to his football team as well as his future. Before he joined the team when he was 13, he struggled mightily with his academics, constantly falling asleep in class, that is if he showed up at all. But that won't fly anymore, now that he's on the football team he has to maintain a 2.5 gpa to be able to participate. Odds are he never would have made it to college, probably wouldn't have even visited if it weren't for the stack of letters his coach had received from interested coaches. After discussing what would be the best option for him and his family with his coach, the player settles on the University of Michigan and a shot at being paid millions to play the game he loves. Without football carving a path through his life, he might have been a CEO of a Fortune 500 company or a lawyer. Or he could have ended up like his two older brothers. We'll never know. What we do know is sports made him strong.

     Still don't think sports matter? Consider the middle aged stock broker who is going through a mid life crisis. He has problems communicating with his wife and children, his boss doesn't respect him, and he hates his job. The only thing that gets him through each day is knowing that a Sportscenter and a cold one are waiting for him in his den. Ah, the den. Where he can be king of his domain, where his wife can't yell at him to wash the dishes or take out the trash. His time in the den is a time to relive his past glorious sports memories. The time he led his basketball team to a state championship by scoring 14 points in the last three minutes of the final game? Just flashed before his eyes as highlights of that night's Clippers-Bulls game showed. It's good to be king.

     Well, you're a tough cookie on this whole sports issue, aren't you? Have you thought about the 12 year old girl who's father only seems to be around when her softball team is playing? No her family isn't poor and Dad didn't skip out on them, he has to travel constantly for work. He uses the one or two days off a week that he can get to coach his daughter's softball team. They are the best in the city after going nearly undefeated last year. He is a proud coach and an even prouder father. He brags to the other dads that his daughter learned how to pitch at a Jenny Finch summer camp. He tells his co-workers about his daughter making the all star team and throwing a complete game shutout in the championship. She knows that her father has to travel to work to provide for her family but she still wishes he could be around more. It just makes the days that he is able to be around for he games that much sweeter. Game days have taken on a new significance in her life as they are now connected with thoughts of spending time with her father. Years later, after her playing days are over and since Dad has passed, she harkens back to her halcyon softball playing days. A single tear comes down her face before she gathers herself, making sure not to lose it in front of her own daughter. They get in the car and drive to softball practice.

     Being the mascot of a college team is a sweaty, thankless job. 'Butch', the Washington State Cougar mascot, peels his eyes open and rolls over to glance at his alarm clock which reads 8:56 am. It's Saturday and gametime is 7 pm. Butch hops out of bed and does thirty push-ups before making bacon and eggs for breakfast. He has a quiet morning of watching college football while studying for his upcoming Biology exam. At about 1:30, Butch goes to the student recreational center to run on the treadmill and lift weights. It's a lonely existence, being the student mascot. He is unable to tell anyone he meets at the university what he is doing in his spare time. He hasn't even told his parents about his true identity, per the university mascot guidelines. Butch arrives back at his apartment at about 3 to shower, eat, and do his pre-game routine. He has to be at the stadium to interact with tailgaters at 4. Butch gets dressed in his usual shorts and tank top before taking a shot of Jack Daniels and heading to the mascot locker room. After suiting up, Butch steps into the outside world, a masked man. He is no longer an inividual who has wants and needs. As Butch, his desires have become melded with those of WSU students and fans. He represents a larger being. He is the great connector, the almighty maven, the connoisseur of crowds. Without sports, Butch is just like every other student at the university. When he puts on that mascot head, he finds himself, his true id. Days when he gets to wear the head are the best because he can mask his true emotions, which he has always had trouble sharing with others. Hiding in the cougar head, he can dance like no one is watching because in a way, no one is.

     Still not convinced that sports mean something? Perhaps you have a sweet spot for old ladies who scan tickets at your favorite sporting event. The one who's husband passed away a few years ago. His favorite team was the Chicago Bears. Now, as a way of remembering and honoring her fallen husband, the nice widow makes the 40 minute drive to Soldier Field eight Sundays every Autumn. The smell of the stadium food, her chilled breath in the air, the family of five sitting together in her section- everything about this place reminds her of her husband. She considers these home games as quality time spent together with him. In a way it is, since she spread his ashes on the sideline her first day when no one was looking. It was her way of thanking him for always being there. And now he always will be there, at Soldier Field, with the woman and team he loved, eight Sundays every Autumn. Sundays are her favorite days. They were his, too.