The Sports Allure Vacuum: The Score Is Not What I'm There For

Started thinking a lot about what it means to be a sports fan last night.

*

Danielle was home for the first time since Monday. Naturally, I was excited to talk to someone other than the cat while unwinding from work and going about my normal evening activities of reading, writing, fucking around on the computer, and of course, watching sports.

We're in a specific time of year, a wonderful time of year, really. The NHL playoffs are in full swing, the NBA playoffs are in full swing, and the MLB season is starting to take shape. Last night, the Red Wings and Ducks played a Game 7, the Bruins and Hurricanes played a Game 7 (at basically the same time for some strange reason), the Celtics and Magic played a Game 6, the Lakers and Rockets played a Game 6, and the Yankees played the Blue Jays. I had a rooting interesting in all of these games and wanted to see all of them.

This makes for some interesting television choices.

I am not a flipper. I usually believe in choosing the game most worthy of my time and sticking with it. All that happens when you try and watch three games at once is you wind up missing everything important in all of them. And in hockey and basketball, it's not just about seeing one specific play happen like it is with baseball (to a degree, anyway). It's about the sequence of events leading up a big play and how the crowd reacts and how the players react and even how the coaches react. You can sense a big play coming, and for me, that's usually more exciting than the play itself.

I've tried three different ways to write down how I went about choosing what to watch and when last night, but no one way seems to really capture the spirit of it. What I'm going to do is list each thought as I remember it firing in my brain for a half-hour or so, although it's probably still off the mark. This is, again, a re-creation, but it's close to how last night went:

6:59: Almost there. Almost.

7:00: Yankees. Do other sports teams have intro music for their broadcast? I've never thought about this before.

7:03: Al Leiter is such a bad television personality. He just sounds sloppy. Time for hockey. Game 7, kid. Versus's B-list group of hockey announcers really sucks.

7:04: Yankees commercial already. I have never actually seen a WB Mason. Like, ever. Time for basketball anyway. I still can't believe Stephon Marbury got a Tyson (a head tattoo on anyone that isn't a sideshow freak is and always will be called a Tyson). (I'm going to rip-off Bill Simmons here: The NBA--where Tyson's happen!)

7:05: Put on the Yankees--Versus's pre-game is longer than most and who the fuck cares about the first minute of a basketball game.

7:08: The Blue Jays pitcher looks somewhat like the dude who always wears goggles and a lab coat in Big Wet Asses.

7:10: Check in on the Ducks game (I believe that we always subconsciously refer to a game through the team we want to win, whether or not we're a "fan" of that team. Will make for some interesting decisions later).

7:15: Must. Not. Focus. On. Just. Hockey. Check the Celtics game (Shit, was I rooting for a Boston team?).

7:16: Still early--who cares about basketball when it's early? Back to Game 7.

7:22: What? Danielle? Danielle's home?

7:30: Shit, check back on the Yankees.

7:31: Fuck it, it's still early in the season. Can't miss a Game 7, baby. Game 7!

And each time I flipped to another game, something had happened. My worst nightmare. A run scored, a goal scored, a foul called that was still being talked about. And each time, I'd say, "Fuck man, I can't keep up with this shit."

Now, I was vaguely aware of Danielle also being present in the domicile at points. I know she was doing something crafty involving wires. I'm pretty sure I was shown what our friend Christina's birthday gift looked like. I know she took a shower because she put the exhaust fan on and I had to turn the game louder.

But I mean, come on, Game 7?

And this is when I started to think:

I am currently stuck in the sports allure vacuum.

The sports allure vacuum exists because you never know when you will be a witness to history (how long before that's a tag line to a pro-sports commercial?). The Tivo/DVR might be good for such programming as Made of Honor and Grey's Anatomy and Rich Bride, Poor Bride (don't worry, Danielle--wake up at eight AM or so tomorrow morning, and you'll have like, a six hour slot to watch all your shows, I promise. I got you) but there's no chance of it working for sporting events (actually, hun, better make it seven AM). They need to be seen live. I've got too many ways of knowing too many scores and the score is not what I'm there for anyway.

CC won last night, right? I could have looked up his stats. He had a good line, so I could have ascertained that he pitched fairly well. But I needed to see this happening. Because tonight, Phil Hughes will try and build on that start. And the next time CC pitches, he'll want to build on that start, just like he built on his last start when he dominated in Baltimore. And I wanted to know how the Toronto crowd treated A-Rod. And I wanted to know if Mark Texiera built on the previous night's pair of hits. And I wanted to see if Jeter looked gimpy, and if Gardner and Cervelli could keep on making a name for themselves, and if Mo got to pitch, and if he did, if his velocity was up.

Because that's what a sports season is--taking in a million small moments and hoping that the players you root for remember those moments like you do. It's why when one of my teams is eliminated (or doesn't make the post season at all), my first thought is usually something like:

Fuck, what a waste of time.

And even with the steroids and the attitudes and the pictures of guys like Joakim Noah frolicking in Brazilian waters with naked women while Chicago Bulls fans are probably still burning up suicide hot lines, I keep coming back to it over and over again, and sometimes, I don't even know why.

*

When Big Baby Davis hit that game winner two nights ago with no time left, Danielle was sitting next to me. I made her stop what she was doing to watch the last two minutes of that game, something a father would do to a young child, even though, as she said, "You don't even like either of these teams. And I don't even like basketball."

But I told her to just be quiet and watch.

And then Rondo brought the ball up and waited until :05 to make a pass to Pierce, and then the Magic tried to double Pierce, and then he found Davis, and then Davis took that little twinkle toes jump shot, and he sank it, and holy shit.

It made sense that Davis ran screaming down the court to his teammates, a moment of sheer joy. Almost out-of-body.

But there I was, 2,000 miles away, no affiliation to either team, screaming in my living room too.

You know what I was screaming?

"THAT'S WHY YOU WATCH SPORTS!"

I guess maybe I do know.

Now I just hope Danielle understands.


JS