Why Sports Will Always Be a Part of My Story

If you haven’t yet, check my “About” page for my new process of how this blog is going to go. Shit is getting real. 

Sports. Sports. Sports. 

To a novice, it’s just a game, entertainment that lasts a few hours. It suffices for some down time on a weeknight, or gives us an excuse to sit on the couch all day Saturday to binge watch a ton of teams we know nothing about. And that’s totally right … if you’re an idiot.

In its purest form, they’re so much more. They’re dedication, togetherness, love. Think about it: When’s the last time you and a coworker got up at 4 a.m. to hit the track, ran until you nearly collapsed, then kept going anyway? When’s the last time you cared so much about your work that you stayed after hours repping your craft over and over until it was cemented in your brain?

This is sports. Relentless effort. Obsession. It’s not just the entertainment of the game, of seeing the players in interviews with fancy outfits, seeing them walking down the tunnels. It's the unseen hours, the thankless work, the invisible pain. 

And that’s why they matter. Because they’re a metaphor, a figure of speech, an analogy for life, growth, struggle, identity. And it’s personalized to whoever you are, and wherever you are in your life at that moment. 

They build community, give us something to rally behind, to believe in. It creates an emotional outlet and gives us a sense of meaning. Riding the highs and lows of a season, watching players evolve. You don’t just see sports – you feel them.

This is why sports will always be a part of me. Because it’s bigger than the game and the two hours we see on TV. It’s about the dedication that has been given for months to be given a chance to compete. It’s about the stories we hear, offering us empathy for walk-ons or the occasional underdog. It’s about the joy, the magic, the excitement that sticks with us long after the buzzer sounds. 

I can remember a preseason conditioning where I was so fatigued, so drained I had to be held up by teammates for a moment until I regained my strength, finally catching my breath. Then I’d hear, “Another down and back!” and without even thinking, I’d be sprinting again – touching the line with my hand or else we’d all pay for it. 

That’s discipline. That’s what makes the game beautiful. 

That is sports.

Just me holding up a napkin in high school the day after I scored my 1,000th point. No biggie.

Thanks for reading. If you still haven’t, check out the “About” page to see my new updates. Stop on by a few times a week to read my new blogs when they drop. You won’t regret it, and if you do, not really my problem.