The Play's the Thing

The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI) project uses the computers of people around the world. Whenever a participating computer is otherwise idle, it is scanning the ambient noise from space looking for patterns that might indicate an intentional effort to communicate.

In the same way, any corner of my brain that’s not otherwise engaged is always looking for blog ideas. There was an item in last week’s Sporting News that noted that both the college football national championship game and the Super Bowl featured an opening kickoff run back for a touchdown – by the eventual losing team. It occurred to me that it could be a good jumping-off place for a blog… if I wrote the kind of blog that supplies sports insights. I know from experience that many of the people who enjoy reading this (all 4 of you) don’t care that much about sports or even understand why I might care so much.

*Light bulb*.... One of the things I do attempt with this blog is to explain why something is important or interesting or funny, to try to get people to look at some topic differently. And it ought to be a better place to start than a couple of my occasional motivators:

• I thought of a joke and now I need to think of a couple hundred words to set up the punch line.
• It’s Friday and I haven’t posted anything in almost (or over) a week.
  

Usually, of course, it's such a brilliant, potentially life-changing insight that if I didn't share it immediately it would be tantamount to malpractice....

Think about the elements of great drama: conflict, resolution, some unexpected twists along the way. It also helps if the setting is recognizable enough that you don’t have to focus on that along the way, so you can reach a comfort level that promotes letting yourself be absorbed.

Of course, you’ve also just described every sporting contest: two teams , or a group of individuals, competing in a familiar event for a victorious result that can’t be predicted (just ask the 1980 Olympic hockey team). In fact, for many years the Olympics were a sporting event that happened somewhere in the world every four years; if you were lucky you’d read the story in the sports page the next day or catch a few highlights. Then ABC tapped into the intersection between games and drama – the Thrill of Victory, the Agony of Defeat; the stories behind the athletes – and now the Games are a televised phenomenon.

Any sport is, for those of us who love it, a familiar milieu that approaches ritual. But at the same time, since most of the time we’re watching it as it happens, the unexpected is almost commonplace. I have watched a staggering number of baseball games in my life – it would be an embarrassing number, in fact, except I’m not embarrassed at all because I’ve loved every minute of it. Still, when the Dodgers got two runners thrown out at the plate on the same play (in the playoffs last fall against the Mets), I saw something I’d never seen on the field before. I have to admit I wouldn’t have been quite so enchanted if the teams were reversed.

Much in the same way that I like to eat, but I don’t like all foods equally, I love “sports” but it’s baseball that gets its own dedicated portion of my brain. I don’t think I can explain that part very well; I have plenty of friends who are NASCAR fanatics but couldn’t care less about baseball, or who can’t wait for football season but are bored by basketball. In fact, it’s not that rare to talk to someone who loves college football (or basketball, for that matter) but doesn’t watch pro football (or basketball). Just a matter of how your taste buds line up, I suppose – and what you were fed when you were a kid.

In the current sports universe, free agency makes it possible for players to move between teams frequently. And so people like me are often asked, “Why root for the Mets? The guys keep changing – you’re really just rooting for a shirt.” I like to think there’s more to it than a laundry fetish. Regardless of the guys inside the uniforms, there is a tradition and continuity that preserves a connection.

My sister-in-law is a big fan of ER. When she was living in a town where she couldn’t get cable or even broadcast TV (and why even typing those words makes me break out in a cold sweat is something to explore another time) we taped ER for her every week. Well, OK, not quite every week; each Thursday at 9:58 my wife would ask if I was ready to tape it, and I’d scrabble around looking for a blank tape… occasionally I struck out. But she just wanted ER, no interest in any other show.

If you had watched ER in about 1994, and then not seen it again until last week, you might well wonder if it was the same show. None of the faces are the same – but they’re still doing the same stuff in the same place. I’m sure many people still miss George Clooney, or think Law & Order was best with Briscoe and Logan, but they’re still fans of the shows.

Well, I suppose the Mets' Briscoe & Logan are Tom Seaver and Jerry Koosman, and maybe the part of George Clooney is played by Mike Piazza... but really, how different is it? I haven't noticed any great drop-off in popularity of Shakespeare's plays since Lord Olivier made his last exit. In fact, the change helps make it fun; every new player and team provides a Compare & Contrast with the memories of the past.

I actually still enjoy ER, even in its post-peak years, and I'm an avid watcher of shows like Grey's Anatomy and Lost. But for pulse-pounding drama, sports (particularly baseball, of course) has given me unparalleled thrills. I will never, ever forget Game 6 of the 1986 Championship Series (won by the Mets in 16 innings); or, it goes without saying, Game 6 of that year's World Series -- the most exciting single event in the history of history; or even a regular season game like this one... which made me scream so loud I think my parents thought I'd fallen out my bedroom window. You want to talk reality TV? I got your unscripted drama right here.

And so ol' Bill Shakespeare said it best, as always (he must've been a sportswriter before his time) -- the play's the thing.