Watching My Granddaughter's Soccer Game

This past Saturday I spent an hour watching my 7-year-old granddaughter play soccer. I try not to be one of the soccer grandpas, rooting too loudly for a game that's supposed to be fun--providing the little kids with excellent exercise plus the opportunity to learn sportsmanship and ball-handling skills.

It was a good game, and I noticed that my granddaughter played with greater focus and pleasure than she had last year. She looked like a real player, and had a couple of excellent passes, one of which went for a goal.

Only later did I wonder: Could such an event impact my addiction? Was I, at times, getting a high from the play, and not merely enjoying watching my granddaughter having a fine time with teammates on a sunny late summer morning?

Sports watching addiction is subtle. If you quit watching TV, it's there lurking on your desktop or in the newspaper or on radio.

I worried for a while--would the experience make me now want something "better," a quick look at the TV? That bad effect hasn't happened. I did overhear that the NFL season is about to begin. I hadn't thought about it all during the preseason. I was hardly aware that the preseason was even happening. Nor have I clue about the baseball races.

I am, in other words, quite free of the addiction, and that makes me think that I can safely watch my granddaughter's next game.

Sports and Fortune Cookies

No one can accuse me of not trying to avoid sports information via the media.

I stopped listening to the local all-news radio show because they feature sports at least twice an hour.

I avoid looking at the front page of the local paper where sports stories often appear above the fold--especially Barry Bonds stories.

I have trained my eyes to identify breaking sports news on Yahoo! and never clink those links.

Then the other day, I brought home Chinese food--seemed safe enough--and discovered the following inside a Fortune Cookie: "Keep an eye open for an opportunity in the field of sports." (Actually, my wife got the fortune, but she felt compelled to read it to me.)

What am I supposed to do to kick my addiction to this plague: Stop eating?

A Fan's Red Letter Day

My old friend Stephen sent my wife an article that he had written for his local newspaper. The piece describes the joy he feels when--on a given day--the White Sox and Mets win, and the Yankees lose.

My wife says it's a good piece. But I'll never know because I view it as the equivalent of second-hand smoke. Reading about another person's spectator-driven emotions is dangerous.

Baseball in Hiroshima

Last night I watched the HBO documentary about the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The movie is worth watching for many important reasons. But one unimportant scene caught my attention in relationship to this blog. One of the survivors is pictured enjoying a professional baseball game, laughing and cheering just the way Americans do when watching Major League Baseball.

I do not know if spectator sports were popular in Japan prior to WWII, but the image of the Japanese ballpark was so similar to what you see in American ballparks, I felt that this form of spectatorship was a "gift" of America to Japan. The Japanese survivor seemed to be having so much fun passively watching extraordinary athletes play the game.

In the context of the movie--about the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people--the issue of spectator sport addiction is nothing. But the documentary did remind me that the draw of watching is probably universal.

The Thrill of Playing Catch

When I was a kid, I was always amazed by big league outfielders who almost always caught a fly ball no matter how high it sailed. I never mastered that skill. In truth, I was always a bit afraid when a ball came at me during a softball or hardball game. No one ever taught me how to catch, and I was no natural.

Now, instead of focusing on big leaguers--whose skills still astound me--I'm spending time playing catch with my 7-year-old granddaughter. We started with a basketball, flipping it back and forth, just a few feet separating us. I noticed that she seemed a bit afraid of the ball, and would almost blink as it approached her. But after a while, her confidence grew. We then moved farther apart. Soon, she was routinely catching 10 in a row without dropping one.

Today, we switched to playing catch with a tennis ball. It's more of a challenge, giving the catcher a smaller target. I was surprised and delighted to see that my granddaughter's eye-hand coordination was vastly improved. She caught 20 balls without dropping, and some were off the mark (thanks to my limited throwing skills).

I am having so much more fun playing catch with this young woman--and seeing her rapid progress--than I ever did watching the more adept, really magnificent professionals. Not only that, my own ball-handling skills are finally improving!

How to Stop Worrying and Start Living

I'm a worrywart. I don't just worry about ordinary things like finances, health, global warming, and the possibility that a meteor is going to hit West Marin where I live.

I also worry about things that can't possibly happen. For example, when I was a kid one day my mom noticed a light red line running down my leg under the skin. Being color blind, I hadn't even seen in. My mom took me immediately to the doctor who diagnosed the problem as a serious infection. Had we delayed coming to him, I might not be talking to you right now.

I got an antibiotic and that was that. But sometimes I catch myself worrying: "What if my mom hadn't noticed that red thing?"

My wife calls this retroactive worrying, and I worry that it's not a good thing. I know that too much worrying can be harmful to one's health.

Now what's this have to do with Sports Addiction? Everything. When I was watching sports--especially watching a team that I rooted for--I'd worry throughout the game. If it was baseball, I'd worry about whether our clean-up hitter would clean up. I'd worry about whether our closer could close. I'd worry about everything.

I mention this because today, having got maybe halfway through the baseball season without watching an inning, I find myself being less worried. I still worry about my finances and health, of course. But not about players and games that have nothing to do with my life.

The New York Times News Alert: Venus

I just came online and found a NY Times.com News Alert. My blood pressure always rises a bit when I see one of those announcements, which often relate to one catastrophe or another. As I reject the subject line, I saw the word "Venus."

Perhaps because I'm working on a novel about traveling to Mars and hence thinking astromically these days, I imagined I was about to read a story related to space travel. I was close to clicking the link when I noticed that the subject line said: "Venus Williams Defeats..."

A sports story masquerading as news. This is the world we inhabit, where a game is treated with the same importance as war, the economy, education, life and death.

Sports Memories

While falling asleep the other night, I suddenly found myself visually recalling a sporting event from years ago. The specific image isn't important. What matters is that I got a "hit" from the memory, almost as if I were a spectator at a live event.

In the days before I began this journey of kicking my sports addiction, I probably would have happily watched the memory. But now, I shook my head and turned it off, just as I do when a sports report pops up on TV or radio.

But now I realize that staying sober isn't just about avoiding the temptations out there. I have discovered an addiction mindfield within. Just as certain media are offlimits, areas of my brain must now be avoided.

For example, when I hear the date "1954," I think of Willie Mays making the celebrated World Series catch that sank my Cleveland Indians. Dates like that can be dangerous triggers for people like me who want to live sports-free.

Playing More Sports

I am spending a lot more time in physical activity now that I am not spectating. This inverse ratio seems obvious--if I'm watching TV I can't be playing. Still, the experience of doing more surprises and delights me.

Specifically, I'm walking more (hiking, really), biking more, and playing more vigorous games with my granddaughters.

A few years ago I read THE CHOLESTEROL MYTH, a book--by a physician--claiming that cholesterol levels were not the main problem with heart disease. The author speculated that the two killers are obesity and a sedentary lifestyle. I do not know if the author is right, but I certainly feel better these days.

Sound of Temptation

Yesterday, I walked passed a parked car whose radio was tuned to a baseball game. I didn't hear any details. But ust the rhythm of the sportcaster's voice and the ambience of the crowd gave me a warm feeling. Instantly, I was transported to summer afternoons, long ago, in Cleveland, when we lazed about in the backyard or on the front porch, listening to the Indians broadcast.

I don't remember much about my life then, but I do remember that the main sponsor was a beer called Erin Brew. I didn't like beer then, but I liked the commercials and the patter.

So yesterday, for a moment, I felt like drawing close to the car and taking in a "whiff" of the game. The hunger for a bit of nostalgia was strong. But then I realized what I was doing, seeking a quick spectator fix.

I turned and walked away. Close call.

Is Reading Spectating?

My major objection to spectator sports is its passivity. While the players play, the spectators are limited to watching, commenting, and...eating. Now, finally, I'm interested in being as active as the players. When it comes to athletics, I want to bike, swim, kick, throw, catch, and just generally put myself on the line.

But this brings up a question: Is reading to living as spectating is to playing? For example, last week I read John Le Carre's first novel, CALL FOR THE DEAD. In it, master spy George Smiley engages in a wide variety of actions: observing, planning, arguing, drinking, and even physical fighting. All the while, I lay on my back reading about George. I found myself wishing that I were a spy, but I wasn't doing anything remotely close to spying.

If the analogy holds--if reading is as passive as watching sports--perhaps I should give up reading and start living.

The Dipsea

The Dipsea foot race--occuring for nearly a century in Marin County California-- is the second-oldest running event in the U.S., right behind The Boston Marathon. Mike D., a friend of mine has has won five black shirts, emblamatic of finishing in the top 35--out of more than 1000 runners.

When I told Mike about this blog, at first he seemed displeased, as if I were against sports. "No," I told him, "I love sports. Humanity would be less human without sports. I'm against SPECTATOR sports that make viewers feel as if they have accomplished something when their teams win ("We're number 1!"), while making viewers feel sad when their teams lose.

In a race like The Dipsea, the runners involved put everything on the line. They spend months in training. They risk injury. They ask their bodies to perform feats that are truly amazing. I admire people who engage in sports, whether they win or lose.

Last Sunday, on the day of the Dipsea, I took a short hike in my neighborhood. I chose a path that includes a short but strenuous uphill climb--nothing nearlyy as challenging as the climbs in the Dipsea. I found myself breathing hard, wondering if I could make it to the top, realizing that I am not in good shape. I felt the sweat under my arms. I had to talk to myself, urging me to keep at it. When I reached the top of the hill, I found myself in awe of the thousand plus runners who, at that moment, were doing the Dipsea.

Playing sports is good. Investing hours watching other people playing sports is--in my opinion--a sad waste of the precious hours given to us.

Learning Something New Everyday

I've been promoting my book--WORDS OF A FEATHER--by guest blogging.

Recently, I posted a piece at BrainDump (http://sidebernie.livejournal.com/), which is devoted to the idea that a person should learn something new everyday. I realized that many days go by and I can't say I've learned anything new.

I'm persuaded that watching sports--while relaxing and entertaining--absolutely interferes with learning. I'm not against relaxation and fun. But on balance, I believe that my life will be richer--and more worth living--if I use my time for learning.

Today, for example, I learned that the "to" in "tofu" means "beans" and that the "fu" means "fermented." Is that as good as watching a big league infield turn a double play? Certainly in the moment, there is something thrilling about watching professional athletes perform. But in the long, I'd rather--to echo Thoreau--know beans.

Indianapolis 500

Last weekend was the running of the Indianapolis 500...I guess.

It was a big deal for me when I was a kid. Back then it wasn't on TV then. We listened to it on the radio.

The broadcast featured a lot of engine sounds plus the narrators' descriptions ("The two lead cars are into Turn 1 racing side by side"). It must have been exciting. We kept the program on the entire race, which must have been about four hours.

I recall the sad day when Bill Vikovich was killed. I believe that he had won the previous two races. I could look it up on Wikipedia, but in this context the details of his racing career are less important than this fact: I loved Bill even though I never met him. I loved him because he was a winner and a risk taker. Then his car crashed. He was dead (whatever that meant to an 10-year-old kid). I was devastated.

And that's the point: I was more connected to someone I never met--someone who didn't know me or even know I existed--than I was about the fate of my neighbors. To me, that's one of the huge downsides of spectatorism: It takes us from our real lives and connects us with fantasies and images.

Who won this year's Indianpolis 500? Were records set? Was anyone hurt or killed? None of it matters to me. But I know this: I spent the four hours of the race (or however long it takes now) on things closer to home.

Sports Fantasy

I once read that--just before falling asleep--many guys imagine themselves making a big play in a sporting competition: hitting a homer, shooting the winning basket, blocking the puck as time runs out.

In truth, I don't know if guys--or women--do this. I'd be too embarrassed to ask. But I will confess that I used to invent such fantasies myself. Much more interesting than counting sheep.

Reflexively, the other night I put myself into one of those situations. I believe I was trying to strike out a hitter and win the game. Then I caught myself. Was I rolling out the mental movie simply to get a quick fix? Was it the same thing as watching a real athletic competition?

As I think I've said in an earlier post, I'm not against participating in sports, but only watching sports to get a vicarious thrill. Did "watching" myself hurl 95 mph fastballs fall into the spectator category?

I could argue it either way. But to error on the side of safety, I stopped the fantasy. I did have other options besides the sports scenario, but I don't feel it's appropriate to discuss them here in this G-rated blog.

A Biographical Fix

My eye fell upon a Yahoo! headline: "Gone too fast." I clicked on the link and discovered that the story was about Diego Corrales, a former boxing champion who had been killed in a motorcycle accident. Mr. Corrales was 29.

I wanted to read about his life and death, but I wondered if I was just trying to get a sports hit. After all, boxing is one of the most ancient and universal contests. In another post, I mentioned our family's tradition--back in the 1950s--of watching Saturday Night Fights on a tiny black and white screen. (Howard Cosell might have beeen on the announcing team.)

Back to the story of Mr. Corrales: Uncertain whether to read it or not, I solicited the opinion of my wife. It's not just that she's smarter or more ethical than me. Because she's never had a sports watching addiction, her opinion counts for something. She said: "Reading about a man's life is different from reading an account of a sporting event. You may read the piece."

The story, by Kevin Iole, includes the following three paragraphs:

"Only two years earlier in the Mandalay Bay Events Center, Corrales was the victor in a brawl with Jose Luis Castillo in a lightweight title unification match that was unsurpassed in boxing history for its savagery.

"But what made the fight so memorable was its sensational and unexpected ending. With his left eye closed, his face a grotesque lump of welts, Corrales dragged himself from the mat after a pair of 10th-round knockdowns to rally and stop Castillo.

"It was his finest moment, one of the finest in boxing history."

I'm going to confess: Those 91 words gave me a jolt. If it had been a shot of heroin and not a dose of reportage, I'd have been sky high.

Does this make my wife wrong? No. How could she understand the feelings of an addict. I have learned my lesson. Sports biography is a forbidden genre. Maybe I'll find a dramatic story about the death of a jazz musician or a teacher or a farmer...

Tour de Perth

A few weeks ago a professional bike tour zoomed through Point Reyes Station, the village where I work. People lined the main street to cheer the riders on.

This morning, motivated by a stomach bulge that I discovered while looking at myself in the mirror, I dusted off my bike,
and started pedaling up Perch, a street that runs past our property and up to the Inverness watershed about a mile away. My wife and I walk up the hill, which in places has a 7% grade. We regularly see young cyclists chatting as they effortlessly pass us. Those kids, of course, aren't carrying an excess 20 pounds, my "handicap."

Half-way up the hill, I had serious doubts about the enterprise. The phrase "quit now" flashed on the scoreboard inside my head. But recalling that the riders in the Tour de France tame mountains three times as steep as Perth, I pushed on. My desperate breathing at first distracted me from the pain, then frightened me. The phrase "heart attack" replaced "quit now."

That was an upsetting thought, because if I collapsed, my family couldn't even say "He died doing what he loved." What I love is typing, not sweating." Nevertheless, I was determined to reach the top of the hill. And somehow I did. I'm sure it was a record run: the slowest time ever.

At the top, no crowd applauded.There was no yellow jacket for me to don. But I felt the kind of joy that, I'm certain, is closer to what the pro riders feel than what is felt by the folks at the side of the road cheering them on.

Spectator Sports and Death

Why have I come to reject spectatorism? Here's why:

Say that my team--the 49ers--needs to move the ball one inch to score the winning touchtown. There's time on the clock for just one more play. I'm feeling all the tension in the world. The players break the huddle and move into position.

I'm breathing hard, but what does any of this have to do with me? I'm not on the field; my ability to block or run or throw or catch won't be tested. I didn't decide on the play nor choose the players to carry out the strategy. I am sitting at home. My "activity" is limited to watching, plus eating and drinking.

All the real work, all the passion, all the joy belongs to the players on the field. Nothing I do, say, think will make any difference as to the outcome. My role is pure passivity.

How different that is from a thousand things I could be engaged in: learning a new tune on my saxophone, sharpening my juggling skills, drawing a cartoon, puzzling out an algebraic equation, figuring out how to stop the drip in my bathtub, planning a vacation, taking my wife's hand. A thousand things? Closer to an infinite number of thing.

To my way of thinking: passivity is death; activity is life. I choose life.

To Everything There Is a Season

Tomorrow is The Kentucky Derby. I didn't want to know it, but promotion everywhere. I'd have to be blind and deaf to avoid the hoopla. Even if I couldn't see and hear, the sponsors of the race would probably beam the news to me via ESP.

But while thinking about "Derby Day" I suddenly noticed that time seems different now that I am mostly cut off from sporting news.

When I was an active sports addict, I allowed the sporting industry to label time for me: March Madness, Boys of Summer, Super Bowl Sunday, Monday Night Football, the Memorial Five Hundred. I'm old enough to remember "Saturday Night Fights."

Without sports filling up my calendar, I find myself wondering: What day is this? What month?

Before the advent of big business spectatorship, the passing scene was defined differently. According to Ecclesiastes 3:
To everything there is a season
A time for every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born,
And a time to die;
A time to plant,
And a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill,
And a time to heal;
A time to break down,
And a time to build up;
A time to weep,
And a time to laugh

The list goes on, but I promise you that verse never mentions basketball, baseball, soccer, hockey, football, or boxing. The focus is on the activities that have direct meaning for ordinary people like you and like me.

Spousal Warning

When I came into the living room early this morning, I noticed the morning newspaper which lay on a table. Roberta shouted, "Don't look at the front page!"

I averted my eyes and never did see the offending article. Had some major sports figure been arrested or killed? Were the San Francisco Forty-niners finally going to get a new stadium? Did the Golden State Warriors win the playoff series and advance to the next level?

Now it's late at night. I am slightly curious about the sports news that I didn't learn about. Would it compromise my journey to ask my wife what horror she had saved me from?

The answer to that question can't be found in the rule book, because there is no rule book for breaking a sporting addiction. A person simply must look deep inside.

I think I'll go to bed.

When to Quit

Friends wonder: Why quit watching now? Sports addicts around here are going nuts with all the news: The Warriors have finally made the playoffs .Barry Bond's is chasing the home run record. And the 49ers are poised for a return to glory.

So much spectating to do. So many memorable moments not to be missed.

But doesn't that make this the BEST time to quit? After all, even the most addicted fan will turn off the set when the home team bumbles its way to defeat. That proves nothing.

The true test of one's desire to break free of sports addiction is when the "good stuff" is served up. In the days and weeks ahead, with Bonds challenging Aaron, and the Warriors making the post season, and the 49ers aiming for the Super Bowl, I hope my one and only response will be:

"Hell no. I won't watch!"

Breaking "News"

Starting many years ago at the top of each hour I'd flick on the radio to pick up the top news stories. The all-news station and the talk-radio station both go to the networks for a few minutes.

But this morning, right after a national report about a huge car bombing in Iraq, the local station began a story about the Golden State Warriors who are in the playoffs. A few games have been played, but I don't know the results. Apparently, though, fan fever is high in the Bay Area, and the news editor felt that covering the Warriors was as important as news about the President's position on the Iraq war or immigration or...

Angrily, I thrust my hand toward the radio's off button. With my 65th birthday approaching, I wasn't expecting much from my antique reflexes. But my hand flew like lightning. Amazingly, I silencing the radio before I could hear a single fact about the Warriors.

I've already learned to avoid sports reports which on the all-news station come at 15 minutes after and before the hour.
Now I wonder if I must cease listening to the top-of-the-hour news reports. Maybe it's OK to abandon radio altogether. I need to think about it.

Identifying Addiction

When I was an active sports addict, I'd find myself anticipating the next "big" game.

For example, during the NFL season--especially decades ago--on Monday I was sated. I'd read the sporting news--especially if my team won--but I didn't hunger for it.

On Tuesday, I'd be OK. But by Wednesday, I'd be thinking about the weekend's game, and getting through Thursday, Friday, and Saturday could be downright painful. Thanksgiving was good because the NFL presented an unusual Thursday game that brought relief, even if my team weren't involved.

Eventually, we got Monday Night Football, and then--near the end of the season--Saturday games. The pain decreased while the dose frequency increased and the addiction deepened.

I wasn't aware of this phenomenon at the time. But I was aware enough never to complain to my wife that I was having withdrawal symptoms.

Sports Screenplay

At age 51 I earned a graduate degree in screenwriting from UCLA. Since then I've had half a dozen scripts optioned. One--SUMMER OF THE FLYING SAUCER--was shot in the fall of 2006. Another--THE ESP AFFAIR is in preproduction at Point Reyes Pictures. (Yeah, there's nepotism involved; I co-own the company. Still, it's a good script and worth investing in--if you happen to be a friend or family member of the producers.)

Now I'm writing a love story about an amateur athlete. A few scenes involve spectators at games. When working on these scenes, I imagine myself in the crowd, watching the action.

I therefore ask myself: Am I violating the terms of this kick-my-sports-addiction journey by creating the very sort of happening that I am trying to avoid in my life? Or do I get a dispensation because art isn't the same thing as reality?

Letter to the S.F. Chronicle

When I woke up this morning, I decided that I must be more proactive about the media. So I wrote the following letter to the editorial board of the San Francisco Chronicle, requesting their help in my struggle to stay sports free. I'll post their response as soon as I get it.

* * *

Dear Chronicle,

After a lifetime of compulsive sports watching, on April 8 I decided to end my addiction. This means not watching games live or on TV, not listening to broadcasts, and not reading about my favorite teams.

The journey of my recovery is documented at http://kickingmysportsaddiction.blogspot.com/

Unfortunately, you at our beloved Chronicle don't make it easy. Last week you printed a story about Don Nelson on page 1--above the fold! Today, you feature a basketball story in the flag.

Now, when I fetch the paper, I have to avert my eyes.

I have a simple request: Could you please refrain from including sports information in section 1? Otherwise, I'll be forced to ask my wife to pre-read the paper for me and, if necessary, clip out offending stories about the Warriors, Bonds, and other enticing topics that could drag me off the wagon.

Thanks.

Murray Suid
Point Reyes Station, California

Second-hands Sports Information

While crumpling up newspaper to start a fire in my woodstove this morning, my eye fell upon a headline: "Why baseball is now so white" by C.W. Nevius, one of my favorite writers. The article was in the front section of the paper, not the sports section, which I totally avoid.

I asked myself: "If the article is about a social issue, could I read it without falling off the wagon?"

On this project, there is no judge to give me guidedance. But my wonderful wife, sensing my perplexity, offered to read the article and possibly clear it. While she read, I was reminded of the Orthodox Jewish tradition of skirting the prohibition of working on the Sabbath. For example, while the Bible has been interpreted as forbidding turning on the lights during the Sabbath, a non-Jew can be hired to do that chore.

Is such a work-around Kosher--given that the non-Jew would be violating God's rule about honoring the day of rest? Alas, answering that question falls outside the scope of this entry. In the present situation, my wife didn't violate any rule because my flight from spectator sports involves only me. I wasn't corrupting her, just using her.

My wife's synopsis of the article explained that young white players with parental backing attend expensive training camps to devleop baseball skills, thus giving them an advantage over poor players, many of them people of color. Clearly, Nevius's piece was about justice, not sports. His words would not stimulate my desire to watch sports, but rather make me angry about the un-level playing field that we provide young people in this country.

Embedded Sports

My wife and I recently watched NOTES ON A SCANDAL. This highly rated movie contains a brief scene of high school kids playing soccer. The scene probably was included so that a male student could remove his shirt and show his handsome chest to the older female protagonist--a teacher who eventually has an affair with him.

The shots distracted me because suddenly--if just for a few seconds--I found myself watching a sporting event. It was different, of course, from watching a pro game. The outcome didn't matter and it was just make-believe. And yet, the action drew me in. I was--momentarily--a spectator.

Does this mean I need to stop watching movies if I am to avoid watching sports? I don't think so, but I imagine that if I watched a movie devoted to sports--say, Rocky--I would get a "hit" perhaps as strong as attending an actual sporting event.

Sports News Above the Fold

For the past few days, I've thought about sports only a couple of times. I've been busy promoting my book WORDS OF A FEATHER. Occasionally, when nothing is on my favorite newstalk radio program, I recall that in the old days I'd go to sportstalk radio. But I've resisted the temptation.

Then, this morning when I picked up our local paper-- the San Francisco Chronicle--I noticed a headline about Don Nelson, coach of the Golden State Warriors basketball team. Immediately, I tossed the paper aside, angry that the editor thought basketball was important enough to put on page 1, above the fold. I speculated that the Warriors, who were struggling for a playoff space when I turned away from sports, maybe earned a playoff space. I asked myself if I needed to know. I decided in the negative.

But later, when my wife was reading the paper, she looked up and commented, "The warriors are in the playoffs." She doesn't care about sports and, as far as I know, has never attended a basketball game at any level. But she was startled to see the report given so much prominence and she thought I wanted to know.

Have I said before: In this culture, it is almost impossible to avoid information about spectactor sports. This is true even in the tightly controlled world of one's own home.

Weather and Sports

My wife knows that I'm kicking my sports addiction. So I was surprised yesterday when she looked up from the newspaper and said, "Did you know that for the fourth day in a row a snow storm has forced cancellation of baseball in Cleveland?"

I replied, "You know that I'm ignoring sports these days."

"Yes," she answered, "but this isn't a sports story. It's a weather story."

She was right, I suppose, but I still felt jarred by the mention of baseball." I'd like to be so oblivious to the news of sports that I actually forget it's baseball season.

Day 2: No sports

Driving to work, I almost hit the button for my favorite Sportstalk radio show, "Rhome Is Burning." But I caught myself and instead listened to a recorded book, a biography of Jane Austin.

After dinner, I tuned in a newstalk radio program. The host Gene Burns was badmouthing the British sailors who acted unheroically--as Gene viewed it--in turning their boat over to the Iranians. Gene said that the sailors should have given up their lives to save the boat, and he referenced several heroes such as John McCain and Audie Murphy. I emailed Gene to say that England wasn't at war with Iran, hence the sailor should be judged differently. Gene read my email on the air. But he wasn't persuaded.

Later, I realized that I tend to use newstalk as a surrogate for sports, and maybe I'll need to give it up along with traditional spectator sports. But I suppose a difference is that the newstalk format allows authentic involvement. After all, we are a government of the people, and one of the things the people should do is debate issues that affect the country. Very different from a fan debating whether or not a certain pitcher should be dropped from the starting rotation. Managers don't care at all about the fans' opinions.

No More Sports Spectating

I am a spectator sport addict. My addiction is not particularly extreme. Over the years, I've probably spent--wasted--10 hours a week on average watching, listening to, and/or reading about the exploits of pro athletes.

No more! Starting today, I will not watch professional sports live or on TV. I will not listen to broadcasts nor read about games and players online or in newspapers. I will not discuss sports with friends.

I will engage in sports actively--basketball, biking, whatever--but that is something totally different.

I should have quit spectating long ago. Actually, I tried to give it up in the 1990s, but my best friend bought season tickets to the S.F. Giants and the S.F. Forty-niners. I felt it was in poor taste to turn down his many invitations to join him at games (he had terrific seats). Now I realize that taste had nothing to do with it. I was hooked. If I didn't go to games with him, I watched them through the media. I thought about sports often and felt excited when the local teams did well, and felt bummed when they failed. I used sports as a conversation crutch, and I turned to sports for consolation when I was disappointed with my own life.

Going cold turkey will be tough. For example, this is the year that Barry Bonds will likely become the all-time home run champ. In days gone by, I'd devote a lot of time and attention to his pursuit of Hank Aaron's record. But if it weren't Barry, there'd be something else. I know it. Addicts always find a reason to go to their drug.

Of course, even if I'm strong, avoiding sports won't be easy, not in our culture. Often, sports news is teased on the front page of our newspaper. And two powerful radio stations are devoted to sports. When I visit the Yahoo! home page, there's also a link to sporting news. Today, I was greeted by a photo of a guy who beat Tiger. I quickly clicked out of there, but for that moment, I caught the whiff of it and was nearly drawn in.

Still, I think I can live without spectator sports. Hopefully, I'll eventually not even notice that March is a time for madness, or that the "boys of summer" are hard at work.

I'll give my reasons for breaking the addiction next time.