I’ve never really understood the allure of watching sports on television.
I do have some fond memories of watching the ABC Wide World of Sports each week with my dad--mostly I wanted to see the poor ski jumper wipe out again, “the agony of defeat” indeed. We also watched stock car racing quite a bit--but as neither of these pastimes survived my passage into adulthood, I suspect I was mostly interested just because these were Dad’s passions.
I’ve also enjoyed watching TV sports at times, primarily the Winter Olympics--downhill skiing and ice skating especially. Summer Olympics not so much, except for gymnastics. Tennis can be interesting, watching from above, noting the chess like strategy of the shots, striving to move an opponent to a difficult position. At the same time, it’s never been something I made a point to watch. From time to time I’ve followed baseball, but each time I’ve quickly fallen away.
TV just doesn’t capture the real skill of the players. Once, visiting a friend in Chicago, I went to a Cubs game. We sat just over the dugout and watched a relief pitcher casually warming up. Nice, slow, relaxed toss--and the ball goes flying like a rocket in a straight line several dozen feet, neatly into the catcher’s glove. Amazing. Those outfield catches and double plays? A ball shooting like lightning hundreds of feet in perfectly straight lines in must a second. These are professional athletes. You don’t get that perspective on TV.
So I’m just not the stereotypical sports fan, sitting in a Lazy Boy with chips and beer, proclaiming “We’re #1!” I’d rather get out and be active myself.
Football just seems to be wait, wait, wait, line up, run into each other for a second, fall down. Basketball means endlessly running up and down a court. Hockey seems to be furiously skating around, hitting each other with sticks whenever possible. Boxing just seems brutal.
I can at least understand why others might want to watch these, but other TV sports mystify me completely. Golf, for example--walking, teeing, looking up the course, addressing the ball, a swing, then watching sky sky sky sky sky, bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce. Repeat. Or fishing. It’s a guy or two in a boat casting line into the water. What’s to see for half an hour?
At the same time, I’ve watched engaging movies about all of these sports--even on the small screen. What’s the difference? Of course, movies can spend more time setting up effective filming angles, and of course, feature a carefully crafted, scripted story. Regular sports fans, engrossed in a team’s fortunes, probably see more of a story.
Or perhaps I’m just a loner who prefers quiet time to think. I’d rather hike in the mountains than walk around a golf course, explore the waterways in a kayak than rest in a canoe with rod and reel.
Or maybe I just like a good story.
Showing posts with label hockey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hockey. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Monday, September 3, 2007
The Way Sports Should Be
Clay Buchholz brought a welcome fresh breeze to sports news Saturday night when the rookie pitched a no-hitter against Baltimore the same day he was called up to the Red Sox.
Seeing Barry Bonds break Hank Aaron’s record under a steroid cloud was news for a day or two. Who care? What’s inspiring about drug-induced performance? Hank Aaron is clearly still the more inspiring player. When Buchholz reached deep down to pull off such a great start to his major league career—that’s inspiring, that’s fun to watch, that’s worth talking about and remembering. And even better is that this was also a TEAM effort—second baseman Dustin Pedroia saved this no-hitter with a spectacular catch and throw in the seventh inning, and certainly catcher Jason Varitek played no small role in this success.
When professionals forget why we like to watch sports in the first place, the games are dull. Sure, no one wants to cheer for NFL’s Michael Vick, a stupid, mean criminal, but the slide in quality goes beyond that. Basketball writers, for example, are complaining that while the NBA is chock full of stars, the games have become slow, with few points scored, since the stars insist on making spectacular shots, sacrificing fundamentals and team play, and so make too many mistakes when the play is fast. What happened to the hard work needed for precision? The drive to be a star and to win at all costs kills it. Maybe it’s too much TV exposure.
I’d far rather watch high school wrestling than the silly, scripted presentation euphemistically call professional “wrestling.” It’s a show, a movie, theater, not a sport—and it’s dull.
Amateurs reaching deep down to find that something extra is far more exciting than prima donna pros.. Instead of a “professional” hockey player sucker punching another player from behind, I love games like the U.S./U.S.S.R. Olympics match in the 1980s. The Soviets were better skaters, more experienced, but the U.S. team just tried harder—a series of good, clean, fascinating games. Or after Tonya Harding figured to way to out skate rival Nancy Kerrigan in the 1994 Olympics was to have her boyfriend attack her knee, fifteen year old Oksana Baiul flawlessly skated her way to the gold in a stunning performance.
I have no patience for the temper of a John McEnroe or the bad boy image of an Andre Agassi, convinced “image is everything.” Give me a game like this one—I forget now whether it was Wimbledon or the U.S. Open:
Pete Sampras faced only one more challenger to win the event—a completely unknown newcomer to the tour. They were quite closely matched, and set after set we watched the champion defending his title and the newcomer fighting for his shot, matched with the reigning king of tennis. The play was so close that the last game would determine who would leave champion. That game went to match point, changing hands again and again and again and again. The weather was very hot, and both players were exhausted, slowly dragging their worn muscles back to the baseline each time, Sampras actually vomiting one the sidelines between points. Finally, though, the physically beaten champion pulled off the match, walking over to congratulate his opponent, excepting the trophy from the judges.
Then I saw something I’ve never seen before—as the poor guy who came so close slowly walked off the court, tears streaming down his face, clearly feeling crushed, the crowd rose to its feet for a standing ovation. He lost, but he played a remarkable game. That’s how sports should be.
My best friend in college, an avid baseball fan, used to complain about how people would say, “Oh, this team sucks, that player sucks” and so forth. “The worst player on the worst team in the Major Leagues is an incredible athlete,” he noted.
He’s right. And watching contests among gifted players reaching down for that something extra, that better team play, that better, long-disciplined control of fundamentals (true of musicians and dancers, too), is a far better way to appreciate the games.
Real people. Real contests—not drugs, cheats, egos and even criminals.
So thanks, Clay! I needed that. And congratulations on a game well played.
Seeing Barry Bonds break Hank Aaron’s record under a steroid cloud was news for a day or two. Who care? What’s inspiring about drug-induced performance? Hank Aaron is clearly still the more inspiring player. When Buchholz reached deep down to pull off such a great start to his major league career—that’s inspiring, that’s fun to watch, that’s worth talking about and remembering. And even better is that this was also a TEAM effort—second baseman Dustin Pedroia saved this no-hitter with a spectacular catch and throw in the seventh inning, and certainly catcher Jason Varitek played no small role in this success.
When professionals forget why we like to watch sports in the first place, the games are dull. Sure, no one wants to cheer for NFL’s Michael Vick, a stupid, mean criminal, but the slide in quality goes beyond that. Basketball writers, for example, are complaining that while the NBA is chock full of stars, the games have become slow, with few points scored, since the stars insist on making spectacular shots, sacrificing fundamentals and team play, and so make too many mistakes when the play is fast. What happened to the hard work needed for precision? The drive to be a star and to win at all costs kills it. Maybe it’s too much TV exposure.
I’d far rather watch high school wrestling than the silly, scripted presentation euphemistically call professional “wrestling.” It’s a show, a movie, theater, not a sport—and it’s dull.
Amateurs reaching deep down to find that something extra is far more exciting than prima donna pros.. Instead of a “professional” hockey player sucker punching another player from behind, I love games like the U.S./U.S.S.R. Olympics match in the 1980s. The Soviets were better skaters, more experienced, but the U.S. team just tried harder—a series of good, clean, fascinating games. Or after Tonya Harding figured to way to out skate rival Nancy Kerrigan in the 1994 Olympics was to have her boyfriend attack her knee, fifteen year old Oksana Baiul flawlessly skated her way to the gold in a stunning performance.
I have no patience for the temper of a John McEnroe or the bad boy image of an Andre Agassi, convinced “image is everything.” Give me a game like this one—I forget now whether it was Wimbledon or the U.S. Open:
Pete Sampras faced only one more challenger to win the event—a completely unknown newcomer to the tour. They were quite closely matched, and set after set we watched the champion defending his title and the newcomer fighting for his shot, matched with the reigning king of tennis. The play was so close that the last game would determine who would leave champion. That game went to match point, changing hands again and again and again and again. The weather was very hot, and both players were exhausted, slowly dragging their worn muscles back to the baseline each time, Sampras actually vomiting one the sidelines between points. Finally, though, the physically beaten champion pulled off the match, walking over to congratulate his opponent, excepting the trophy from the judges.
Then I saw something I’ve never seen before—as the poor guy who came so close slowly walked off the court, tears streaming down his face, clearly feeling crushed, the crowd rose to its feet for a standing ovation. He lost, but he played a remarkable game. That’s how sports should be.
My best friend in college, an avid baseball fan, used to complain about how people would say, “Oh, this team sucks, that player sucks” and so forth. “The worst player on the worst team in the Major Leagues is an incredible athlete,” he noted.
He’s right. And watching contests among gifted players reaching down for that something extra, that better team play, that better, long-disciplined control of fundamentals (true of musicians and dancers, too), is a far better way to appreciate the games.
Real people. Real contests—not drugs, cheats, egos and even criminals.
So thanks, Clay! I needed that. And congratulations on a game well played.
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