Right now the Olympics are going on, and if I have to say one thing about the Olympics, it is that they are old. We’ve been mucking with sport for a long time. What I don’t get is, “Why?”
I think there’s probably a couple posts worth on this topic, but I’ll start out with an unsupported premise, and a story.
The premise – Sport is an exercise in glory and power. It is a manufactured conflict that reveals a glorious or a powerful aspect. Resolution, strength, courage…
The story:
My favorite sports moment is when I was playing volleyball at a picnic. The net was one of those inexpensive portable kits you set up – the kind that rely on tension to stay upright, with the little nylon cords for guy wires. I actually have two great memories from that game. The first is when I slipped trying to dig a ball, but with my second effort I was inches away from making the play nonetheless.
But the second was far better. Only a handful of people ever saw it. I’m certainly the only one who thinks about it or remembers it. But I remember it clearly.
An errant return from my team was headed out of bounds – sideways, out of our court, and I was determined to save the play. I was scrambling low on slick grass footing- stumbling and staggering off balance, but churning my legs as fast as I could to try and make the distance.
I saw the guy wire at the last possible second. It was inevitable – I was going to tumble into it and take down the entire volleyball set.
I don’t know how to describe what happened, except that it was unlike anything I’ve done before or since. I planted my left foot, letting my momentum carry me forward, falling forward over it. Then I pushed off and launched myself in a little backroll over the silly little nylon cord. I think it was like what a bowling ball would do if you put a penny on the lane – the ball barreling down, hitting the bump, and doing a little hop – a jump spinning forward in the air before crashing back down and carrying on through.
I carried my little hop on through into the grass and rolled a couple times.
To the picnic observers there can’t have been much glory on display that day, but for me there was. It felt glorious – I felt alive! It was about as small a platform for glory as there could have been, but in middle of all the adrenaline and the endorphins and such, I was living in the manner for which I was made.
It was a good moment.