Sports: So Much More Than Just A Game

“It’s just a game.”

A line my mother would tell me far too often growing up.

A line she’d tell me whenever I became frustrated or upset at the television for something the sports team I rooted for did.

I don’t know if she meant it, or if she simply meant “there’s nothing you can do about it, so stop throwing my good pillows.”

While she did have a point, I’ve found that spots, deep down on a personal level, are so much more than just games.

Because so many of my irreplaceable memories are tied to sports.

I could tell you how I became fans of certain teams and why, but really it’s not the teams that matter in this story. It’s the events around life that do.

Growing up my dad worked a good deal, so he was gone during most weekends and even most evenings. We had a back yard but I didn’t have someone to toss a ball to. So I made up games. I also would take the wood sword my parents bought me at the renaissance festival and would beat the ever-loving hell out of a tree in the back. That tree still bears the scar on one of the branches.

My neighbor, Neighbor Bill, was a nice old man. His wife had recently died. His kids were grown and had moved away long ago. And there I was, playing random games and beating the hell out of a tree.

He gave me my first glove. One of those old 1940s gloves that are barely larger than your hand (I still have it). He taught me how to field grounders and how to catch pop flies. He taught me how to swing a bat and how to throw. He taught me about life.

He was there when I needed it. I think you could say I was there when he needed it to.

Of course, you could also say he helped save my mom’s tree as well.

In the time my dad was around he did what he could. One summer my dad and I went to my first professional baseball game in a stadium that no longer exists.

The game was delayed from an afternoon start to an evening start. This was pre-Internet, so fans didn’t learn this until they showed up at the front gate.

So we walked around town.

We stopped in collectible shops.

We ate chilidogs.

Channel 7 News even interviewed us.

They asked how it felt to be forced to wait around for six hours.

I still remember my reply: “It stinks.”

But did it?

I didn’t always have many bonding opportunities with my dad at the time. And that was a full day with him.

The game might have been just a game.

But our time together was so much more.

Growing up, we’d go to visit both sets of grandparents. My mom’s parents lived in a very small town in northern Michigan.

My grandfather and I didn’t have much in common. We’d struggle to forge conversations.

I think that’s why we played cards so much.

If you’re from the Midwest or Northeast, you, or your parents, or your grandparents, likely played a good deal of cards.

Euchre was a game of choice.

As was cribbage.

One of the few things we could talk about was sports. I liked one college football team from the state of Michigan. He liked the other. He’d kid me about the team. He’d say they looked soft.

Our interactions would last a few moments. Thankfully the card games were team-based.

A few years later, my team went to the Rose Bowl. The team won and finished an undefeated season. It was exciting. Then my mom told me I had a voice mail.

I went to the machine and pushed “Play.”

It was my grandfather.

He told me he was proud of my team. That he was happy for me. He told me so many things in that message I’d never heard him say. His voice quivered. He hung up before he started to cry.

Because while the game was just a game what he told me was so much more.

I have a group of great friends.

Friends I’ve known for most of my life. One of them I’ve known since the first grade. Another since the third.

I played baseball and soccer with them growing up.

We still talk about those times.

We still talk about sports today. Sometimes because it’s on our minds. Other times because it’s the easiest thread to pull to remain connected. Because we’re each thousands of miles away from the nearest one.

And now, with another baseball season coming up, I look back at the time with Neighbor Bill. At my time going to the old baseball stadium that is no longer there. At the times with my lifelong friends that no distance can separate.

Because while the game might just be a game, the events around it have always been so much more.

When sports become life.