when you love a sport
you’ll walk miles to play it on a court
you’ll endure rain-soaked days to watch it on TV
you’ll play it with your heart, your tired battle-worn piece of cardiac muscle.
you’ll watch other sports, and you’ll think the entire time, ‘i wish i were playing, ____.’
you’ll look in the eyes of others who love it too and see a fire that’s been in your eyes
you’ll take blisters, sprains, cuts, bruises, groans in stride: scars of warriors coming home from a clash
you’ll make sure you have a good time every time you play, because:
winning at no cost is no win; losing without effort isn’t worth it; competition is not only what makes life great, but it’s what engenders the healthy love of self, found in faith and Kierkegaardian glee and you know nothing beats a Gatorade after an hour of playing basketball or tennis or volleyball or anything else.
you’ll fight and fight not to beat anyone in particular but to beat yourself: personal records and best times and blocks, steals, rebounds, aces, winners, touchdowns and home runs.
you’ll break your hockey stick in anger; you’ll smash your racquet against the ground; you’ll throw your mitt in frustration; you’ll slingshot a basketball at the other hoop—emotions that you usually keep to yourself.
you’ll lose with dignity and win in the same manner.
when you love a sport,
you’ll have something few others have:
a solemn passion to achieve what you cannot.
No comments:
Post a Comment