(The greatest triumph of my artistic life, winning the Draw Your Own Card contest for the 1999/2000 Upper Deck MVP hockey set.)
I am in bunches this morning. It’s one of those rare days when the world seems brand new and full of unlimited possibility. Well, I guess those days happen to me at least three times a week, but today is different.
The hockey season starts tonight. So do the MLB playoffs. I am a huge sports fan, and it doesn’t get any better than that. Unless it includes rubber rats.
Why do I hook my passionate heart onto the activities of a set of grown men in other cities that I will never meet? It’s the legends, the myths, the poetry in motion, and the final score. I think we follow sports as a vestigial function carried over from the hunter gatherer days. I’m sure the stories used to go “Big Forehead jumped from the rock, flat onto the deer’s back, and dropped it with a single blow to the ear. It was his twelfth consecutive kill, making him the best hunter in the league this season.”
Now we tell tales of batting average and shoot-out goals.
Sports also has the incredible appeal of finality. Too many things in life are forever grey. At the end of the game, the score is black and white.
Did I say poetry in motion? That’s my favorite part. It is pure, since it is spontaneous. While competing at the highest level, the athelete doesn’t get to edit the moves. Humans putting their entire being into action trying to win a sporting event is really fun to watch.
Especially on the first day of a new season.