I miss sports. I miss millionaires diving into billionaires to save a $150 basketball. I miss buzzer beaters, chin-high heaters, and even Astros cheaters. I miss one seeds and three putts and five holes. I miss Roger Federer faking his opponent so far the wrong way on a forehand that both guys have to laugh.
I quit full-time sportswriting six years ago partly because I was tired of the same old wheel, season after season, year after year—the Final Four to the NBA Finals to the World Series to the Super Bowl to the Final Four. But now that these events are inexplicably gone, I’d give my left pinky toe just to cuddle up with a cold beer and the Valero Texas Open.
This has never happened in American history. Sports is shut down, put up, and locked away. No March Madness, no NBA, no NHL, no golf, no tennis, no spring training, no NASCAR, no nothing. All I have is these two guys hitting a ball from one high-rise-apartment window to the other. I’ve watched it 11 times now.
I know we’re doing the right thing. Until the coronavirus calms down, Americans have to stay away from one another, and sports are the opposite of that. Fans, athletes, refs, writers, popcorn vendors, and sweat-mop boys have to avoid all contact. So, you know, just pretend you play for the Cleveland Browns.
The other day, I read the saddest paragraph in sports history. It was in a how-to-isolate-yourself directive: “Shooting hoops solo is OK … Also permitted: hitting a tennis ball against a backboard.” (Cue soft whimpering.)
Here’s how bad it’s gotten: The other day I came upon two teenage boys throwing a football in the alley near my home. I stopped. My sports-starved brain took over from there. The lefty has a nice tight spiral, but I don’t like his footwork. I’d like to see the redhead catch more with his hands than his body. Still—Suddenly, I noticed they were looking at me like they were about to dial 911.
What do we do with ourselves? After Pearl Harbor, Franklin D. Roosevelt persuaded baseball’s commissioner, Kenesaw Landis, to keep baseball going to take people’s minds off the war. A week after 9/11, baseball was back on. But even sports can’t get us through this. It’s a planet-wide stoppage until … who knows? And when they do finally come back, Tom Brady won’t even be wearing a New England Patriots uniform. We are through the looking glass, people.
by Rick Reilly, The Atlantic | Read more:
Image: Lucas Uebel/Getty
I quit full-time sportswriting six years ago partly because I was tired of the same old wheel, season after season, year after year—the Final Four to the NBA Finals to the World Series to the Super Bowl to the Final Four. But now that these events are inexplicably gone, I’d give my left pinky toe just to cuddle up with a cold beer and the Valero Texas Open.
This has never happened in American history. Sports is shut down, put up, and locked away. No March Madness, no NBA, no NHL, no golf, no tennis, no spring training, no NASCAR, no nothing. All I have is these two guys hitting a ball from one high-rise-apartment window to the other. I’ve watched it 11 times now.I know we’re doing the right thing. Until the coronavirus calms down, Americans have to stay away from one another, and sports are the opposite of that. Fans, athletes, refs, writers, popcorn vendors, and sweat-mop boys have to avoid all contact. So, you know, just pretend you play for the Cleveland Browns.
The other day, I read the saddest paragraph in sports history. It was in a how-to-isolate-yourself directive: “Shooting hoops solo is OK … Also permitted: hitting a tennis ball against a backboard.” (Cue soft whimpering.)
Here’s how bad it’s gotten: The other day I came upon two teenage boys throwing a football in the alley near my home. I stopped. My sports-starved brain took over from there. The lefty has a nice tight spiral, but I don’t like his footwork. I’d like to see the redhead catch more with his hands than his body. Still—Suddenly, I noticed they were looking at me like they were about to dial 911.
What do we do with ourselves? After Pearl Harbor, Franklin D. Roosevelt persuaded baseball’s commissioner, Kenesaw Landis, to keep baseball going to take people’s minds off the war. A week after 9/11, baseball was back on. But even sports can’t get us through this. It’s a planet-wide stoppage until … who knows? And when they do finally come back, Tom Brady won’t even be wearing a New England Patriots uniform. We are through the looking glass, people.
Image: Lucas Uebel/Getty
