It’s a numbing, 60-degree Tuesday night in January- well, as frigid as it is going to be in San Diego this time of year. While most of the country is covered in snow, I don’t have time for that nonsense. I have greater ambitions. It may be more an hour before I have to arrive, but I am in my room with the Space Jam theme song blaring through my headphones with “game mode” etched upon my face. I need to mentally prepare myself. It is game night. This is for the playoffs!
As I pull on my Hawaiian shirt uniform, I lace up my cleats and grab my Rawlings Heart of The Hide glove on the way out the door. After the grueling, three minute drive to the field, I arrive at my battleground. As I step through the gates, I can’t help but to give our bitter rival a stone cold stare from across the diamond as I warm up my arm in preparation for the war ahead. After delivering a Lombardi-esque speech in the dugout with eleven sets of eyes feeding off my intensity, I break the huddle. We tear onto the field with pride, as if we were storming the beaches of Normandy. As I sprint past second base, into the outfield, I pop a wad of Swingin’ Sour Apple Big League Chew into my mouth. I am ready to take my place as starting center fielder for the Big Kahunas in the San Marcos Parks and Rec slow pitch softball league.
I will allow myself to use one cliché in this writing: I love sports. As many have come before me, and many will after me, sports are ingrained in my DNA structure.
In my opinion, sports, namely baseball, are one of the most unique concepts that have ever been conceived. We throw a sphere made of string with a leather cover, and we swing a piece of wood and run around a dirt path. The team that can do this the most consistently throughout the season will win a piece of metal saying they are the best. But, if it were only that simple, no one would play the game.
No, for us fans, it is definitely more than just a game. It is a way of life.
Sports allows our naturally competitive spirit to blossom at its fullest as we cheer on men who played the same game we did as children and who were able to live out our wildest fantasies and make it to the highest level. This group of 25 individuals sends us on an annual, dramatic six-month roller coaster ride as we cheer our team to victory. Every night they are there, and every night we watch.
Not a day goes by where my inner-GM doesn’t critique the product that is on the field. Where can we add depth? What holes need to be filled? Does this team have a legitimate shot to win it all? Sports do this to people. It can take over your life. The close fantasy baseball losses, the superstar traded for a “two minor league prospects and player to be named later with cash considerations” or a questionable call to the bullpen for a lefty-lefty matchup that doesn’t pan out. These decisions can really make a person go insane. It is a kind of insane that only sports fans can understand, and it is a beautiful, beautiful thing.
It doesn’t matter who you are, where you came from, what your beliefs may be. For three hours, nothing matters besides our team. It can uplift cities, such as the New Orleans Saints with Hurricane Katrina or the Boston Red Sox with the marathon tragedy. With incredible, heroic feats, sports can give a horrible day something to look forward to later that night. It can turn bitter enemies into best friends and can split apart tight knit families apart simply because they don’t root for the same team. Sports conjure up some of the most powerful emotions a person has ever felt.
I have laughed, I have cried, I have cheered and I have gone clinical depressed because of sports. But I take the bad with the good, because no matter what, I love my sports teams. Win or lose, I will be there for them, just like they are there for me.
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