Is Life a Spectator Sport?

Good evening.

My name is Richard and I'm a sportaholic.

Always have been. My family will verify that it's been true since childhood. My wife and daughter will attest to it. Even my grandchildren have figured it out. I watch sports. I study sports. I play sports (less each year, but I continue to try).

I watch the standard fares. Football, baseball, basketball. I watch golf. I watch gymnastics. Even the kind with ribbons and rings and knives. I watch wrestling.But not the kind on late night television with 600 pound men making obscene gestures at Donald Trump. I watch card games on television. I've even been known to watch bicycling.

I boycott watching very few sports. I crave seeing people do things extraordinarily well. I love the Olympics; winter and summer. What on earth would someone who has spent their life in the sweltering climate of the Gulf Coast know...or care...about the winter Olympics? But with a little effort and a little study, you can become well enough informed to make many of your contemporaries believe that you actually have some idea of what you are talking about.

How did I become hooked? Very simple. It's genetic. I got it from my father and cultivated it into an art form. He was a first generation addict and he couldn't break the habit. Sadly, he probably got so hooked on his first experience that he had no chance of even wanting to try. For him, there was no rehab.

He was a player. But he was a better spectator.

His two youngest boys were always in some form of competition. And when they were, he was there. Little League, Babe Ruth League, Junior High, Senior High, Junior College, Senior College, regular season, All-Star games. Always there. Watching. And never saying a word. Not a screaming parent berating coaches or umpires or referees. Just watching. Studying.
Oh, you might hear an opinion or suggestion after the game, but it was always constructive and never in opposition to anything a coach might have instructed.

He made sure that his only girl got equal treatment. Baseball as a kid, golf programs and tournaments, she even got her own shotgun with a red stock. His daughter...the brightest of the lights of his life...even turned participation in the band into a sport for him. The truth was that he may have hated the band. But he loved his daughter. And if she was going to be a part of a performance, he was going to be there to see her lead it without a word of complaint.

But following these children was an easy thing. I was the challenge.

When you are a sportaholic, you want to be there for the action. What do you do when there is none? Perhaps it's a little thing to many, but a single event stands out in my memory that really defines a lot of what I always saw in my father.

I was a senior in high school and on the basketball team. I was not a starter. In fact, I played behind an all-conference center who was taller and more athletic than I was. He led the team in scoring and rebounding. He was going to go to college on a scholarship. He was the star and rightfully so! I was on the second team. I was thankful that there were only two teams.

We advanced to the playoffs after a fairly successful season and reached the semi-finals. The game would be played in McComb, almost 200 miles away. And it was expected to be close.
My Dad worked in the shipyard where I would later spend most of my career. He worked as a loftsman. And when he didn't go to work, he didn't get paid. With a wife and four kids, he needed to get paid.

It was an afternoon game and, as expected, it was close. I don't remember the score but there are three things I do remember.

1. We won.
2. I did not get in the game. I didn't expect to unless the game became one-sided and that probably wasn't going to happen.
3. Just as the game was about to start, I saw my Dad come in. Alone. Quietly, as always. He sat by himself and watched. Studying. He was going to be there just in case I got to play. And he had known when he left work that wasn't going to happen!

Like I said, he was a player. But a better spectator! In his eyes, my life was the spectator sport and he wasn't going to miss any of it. He didn't have time for rehab. The next game was going to be in Jackson and he would be there.

And that's the way I'll remember it.