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May 17, 2005
By Christopher Shryock
I was talking with a friend of mine in Cincinnati last week. Shannon called me seeking advice on a speech she was writing about the steroid issue in Major League Baseball. About 20 minutes into our conversation, she posed a question to me that I had never been asked before.
“Chris,” she said, “with all of the steroid problems in baseball, the NHL lockout, and the constant parade of athletes into and out of the courtroom, how come you still love sports so much? I just don’t get it.”
This is what I said.
“I guess I’ve never sat down and thought about it, but I think I love sports because of one life changing event and a lot of other events ever since.
“I love sports because of the unbelievable and unexplainable plays. Like Vladimir Guerrero throwing out Tim Rains at home plate from the right-field corner, on one bounce. Or Adam Dunn hitting a gargantuan home run 535 feet, that took only two bounces to find the Ohio River.
“I love sports for the biggest plays, on the biggest stages. Moments like Derek Jeter dashing across the infield to cut off an errant throw, and then flipping it backhanded to Jorge Posada, nailing Jeremy Giambi at the plate. Moments like Mike Jones and “the tackle” in Super Bowl XXXIV that stopped the Titans one yard shy of a championship and that stopped Kevin Dyson one yard shy of immortality. Instances like Tayshaun Prince racing in from Bloomington to block Reggie Miller’s go-ahead lay up in the Eastern Conference finals. And the instant when Craig Krenzel, on fourth and the season, lofted a 37-yard pass to Michael Jenkins in the end zone, prolonging Ohio State’s magical 2003 campaign.
“I love sports because of the gutsy performances -sometimes literally- and the athletes that gave them to us. The time that Michael Jordan, battling a stomach virus and a 103 degree temperature, still dropped 38 points and a game winning shot on the Utah Jazz in a pivotal game five of his final playoff series. And the time that Pete Samprass was vomiting on the court from exhaustion but still willed himself to victory in a five set marathon in the 1996 U.S. Open.
“I love sports for the humanistic moments, moments that remind us that there is more to competition than winners and losers. Who will ever forget the first time that the right-handed Bo Kimble attempted and made a left-handed free throw in honor and remembrance of Hank Gathers, his fallen teammate and best-friend? And anyone who watched will always remember the moment that Derrick Redmond came up lame in a 400 meter qualifying race in Barcelona, only to have his dad come out of the stands and help his son to the finish line.
“I love sports for the moments that inspire us. Who wasn’t inspired by Kerri Strug’s determined vault that forced her to land on a badly damaged ankle and grimace in pain, but overcoming it all to win the gold medal for the U.S.? Or by seeing Curt Schilling limp to the mound in his bloody sock and throwing seven innings of four hit baseball against Yankees to tie the series at 3-3? There was the day in the Bronx when Jim Abbot overcame a lifetime of hardship to throw a no-hitter with only one hand. And the Sunday afternoon in Augusta when, only days after losing his coach and mentor, a 43-year-old Ben Crenshaw found a way to win the 1995 Masters.
“I love sports because they remind us all to never quit and to never give up. There was Lance Armstrong’s resilience and fortitude to overcome cancer and then proceed to win the most grueling bicycle race in the world six years running. There was Dan Jansen, the finest speed skater in the world for a decade, finally winning his elusive Olympic medal, in his final race, despite personal tragedy and unparalleled misfortune.
“I love sports for the unpredictability, for the upsets. Not many people had their money on the long shot that night in Tokyo when a 42-1 overweight underdog reduced the “baddest man on the planet” to searching the canvas for his mouthpiece, stripping him of the Heavyweight crown. Nor did many people believe that Rulon Gardner, the bucolic farm boy from Wyoming, could out wrestle and beat the invincible Alexander Karelin, a man who in 15 years had never lost an international Greco-Roman match. And almost no one had an office pool brackets picking an unheralded Santa Clara team, with an unheralded Canadian point guard, to knock the #2 seed out of the NCAA tournament in the first round.
“I love sports for a different type of unpredictability, the monumental collapses, and how the contests can humble anyone. I will never forget my sense of disbelief when Jean Van De Velde pulled out a driver on the 18th hole of the British Open, needing only a double bogey to win. Or Game 7 of the 2000 Western Conference Finals when up 15 points, Portland hit an untimely 0-13 skid, taking bad shots, making bad passes, and forgetting that in basketball, you have to play defense as well.
“I love sports for the comebacks, reminding us of the notable difference between the fat lady singing and the fat lady humming. There were last year’s Boston Red Sox, three outs from being swept out of the American League Championship series, finding a way to come back and win the game, then the series, and then the World Series, erasing 86 years of history and heartache. There were the 1992 Buffalo Bills crawling back from the abyss of a 35-3 deficit in the middle of the 3rd quarter – in the playoffs, without their starting quarterback or starting running back– and somehow getting the “W”. There was Justin Leonard draining a 45-foot, double breaking birdie putt, to bring the U.S Ryder Cup team back from the depths and the ensuing celebration of champagne showers.
“I love sports for the tremendous individual achievements. The day that Xavier’s David West morphed into Wilt Chamberlain and scored 47 points and grabbed 18 rebounds against Dayton, cementing his status as college basketball’s player of the year. Or the year that Bo Jackson mobilized himself into a two sports phenom, making baseball’s All-Star team and reaching the NFL Pro bowl in consecutive seasons. There were the 1996 Olympics that saw Michael Johnson’s unencumbered speed at the bottom of the track, honing in on a new world record, as well as the distinction of becoming the first man to ever win the 200 and 400 in the same Olympiad. And then there was the 1997 Masters, when a 21 year old kid named Tiger Woods, lapped the field, shooting 18 under par, winning by 12 strokes, and foreshadowing things to come.
“I love sports for the career achievements that may never be duplicated. Like the collegiate career of Iowa State’s Cael Sanderson, who remained undefeated and unblemished after four years and 159 matches. Or the career of Cal Ripken Jr. and the moment became baseball’s new “Iron Man” taking a prolonged lap around the field to celebrate with his fans. And the entire professional career of Wayne Gretzky, who holds every major offensive record in the NHL, and the moment that he removed his sweater for the last time, knowing that he would never play again, and I knew that I would never see another like him again.
“I love sports for the Fall Classics that have lived up to the billing. There was the 1991 World Series when Kirby Puckett made a leaping catch at the wall then hit the game winning home run to secure a game seven, where Jack Morris pitched 10 innings of shutout baseball to will the Twins to victory. Or there was the 2001 installment when the Yankees hit two game tying home runs on consecutive nights, pulling out wins in both games, only to have their lights-out closer let the series slip away in game seven with a bases loaded single.
“I love sports because of the endings derived from fairy tales and the feeling of incredulity that they leave us with. Like Kordell Stewart uncorking a 74-yard bomb, with no time left, that found a diving Michael Westbrook in the back of the end zone. Or when Reggie Miller scored 8 points in 11 seconds to seal the Knicks’ fate for the game, the season, and the next 10 years. I’ll never forget Francisco Cabrera, who had only 10 at bats all season, driving in David Justice and then seeing Sid Bream (who was only slightly faster than a statue) come lumbering into home, sliding underneath the tag and elevating the Braves to the World Series. There was the climax of Joe Carter crushing an inside fastball into the left-field stands for only the second World Series walk off home run in history. And the moment when with 2.1 seconds left, Grant Hill made the perfect pass to Christian Laettner, who hit the perfect shot, after being perfect all game from the floor (10-10) and the free throw line (10-10), propelling Duke to the Final Four.
“But most of all, I can trace my love of sports back to one moment, the greatest sports moment I have ever witnessed. It was a combination of everything I have been telling you about. In Game 1 of the 1988 World Series, Kirk Gibson became Roy Hobbes. His knees were so badly injured he could barley walk. But with two outs in the bottom of the ninth, down one run with a runner on first, he hobbled to the plate. Somehow, he worked the count full on Dennis Eckersley, who was the most dominant closer I have ever seen. Then on the next pitch, Gibson, using only his wrists because of his decrepit knees, connected on a hanging slider and sent the ball hurling through the night.
“The ball landed in the right field stands. Gibson hobbled his way around the bases, pumping his fist as the hometown crowd and everyone watching at home went frenetic, and as Jack Buck exclaimed what everyone watching was thinking ‘I don’t believe what I just saw.’
“The Dodgers went on to sweep the heavily favored Oakland A's in four straight games even though Gibson never stepped on the field again that season. He didn't have too. His home run inspired and willed his team to victory.
“I was seven years old when Kirk Gibson hit that home run and I still remember my dad waking me up to watch, as he made his way to the batter’s box.
“In my 24 years on planet earth, I have never seen anything quite like it before or since, and almost nothing I have seen has influenced my life quite like that moment. Before Kirk Gibson’s home run in the 1988 World Series, like most kids, I liked sports. After Kirk Gibson’s home run in the 1988 World Series, I loved sports.
“You see Shannon, I’m never going to saunter to the mound on opening day in Detroit and the Lions aren’t calling me in to take the snaps for Harrington this season. But watching sports, particularly the great moments, reminds of the time when I was that seven-year old kid, watching Gibson walk lamely to the plate. Sports reminds me of that simpler time a time when I played home run derby in the backyard, HORSE in the driveway, and football in the street. And came home with the scraped knees to prove it.
“I don’t follow sports to keep up with the problems, like steroids, lockouts, and courtroom appearances.
“Frankly, I don’t care.
“I follow and I love and I watch sports because it allows me to see competition at the highest level. It allows me to bear witness to moments that make us all stand up and cheer, sit down and cry, and shake our heads in disbelief. All moments which remind me to appreciate what I have in life, even the times I struggle to the plate, futility in hand.
“But all of these great moments also remind me that I never know when I’m going to see that hanging slider, on a 3-2 count in the bottom of the ninth, waiting to be belted into the seats.
“That’s why I love sports Shannon.
“That’s why I watch.”
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