In Defense of Sports

Don’t let the sunshine and chirping birds fool you. A long shadow has been cast upon my city and with the Toronto Blue Jays sitting dead last in their division it could be a cool summer, indeed.

Last Monday, we let our seven-year-old son stay up way past his bedtime to watch perhaps the most spectacular playoff loss of all time. It’s in the top five, for sure. I mean, we didn’t know he was going to witness sports history at the time, of course. I thought he’d just get to watch the Toronto Maple Leafs fizzle out in their typical fashion. Ed and Colum actually believed they might win. And then, up by three goals in the third period, I actually started to believe they could win too.

Let the record show that I did repeat such brilliant sporting insights as, “There’s still a lot of hockey left to play, guys,” and “It’s not over until it’s over.” So my own blossom of hope never did reach full bloom.

Throughout the third period, as the full brunt of the Leafs’ collapse began to manifest itself one goal at a time, Colum kept walking around the room, playing with the odd toy and filling out an activity book. “Pay attention”, we told him, “or go to bed.” And then, as the night wore on like sinking a ship and the overtime period began, I said it again. “If you can’t focus on the game, maybe you should go to sleep.”

He insisted on staying up but I wasn’t convinced he was following the action. I mean, the kid didn’t seem even a little bit worried. But the instant Boston scored the final goal that stole the comeback legacy out from under the Leafs’ shaky skates, he burst into tears. He had, indeed, been following the game, in the fidgety way that boys do. He wasn’t worried because he had an unflappable faith in this Toronto Maple Leafs team. (Ed wrote about this too.) He hadn’t yet experienced loss.

So, yes, he mostly cried himself to sleep. I’m sure there were grown men who also cried and felt a seemingly perverse sense of personal loss. And to people who don’t follow sports, it must all look pretty ridiculous.

I know parents whose kids don’t play any sports and who brag, even, that their sons and daughters will have no part in the aggressive and brutish behaviour associated with organized team sports. They don’t follow any pro team and if their children do so, it will be in spite of their best efforts to protect them from the Don Cherrys of the world. Hey, that’s fine.

But guess what? Colum got up (reluctantly) the next morning and went to school. He came home the same happy guy as always.

He faced bitter disappointment and learned to process it without having to cope with real loss. (tweet this)

In defense of sports, and quite aside from the much trumpeted benefits of team sports for kids (physical exercise, sportsmanship, social skills, perseverance and so on), I think there’s also a lot to be gained from following professional sports. (Fifteen minutes worth of Googling didn’t provide me with a credible source that supports this idea I have, but I bet it’s out there.) Sports can be like training wheels for grown-up emotions. Hope, excitement, disappointment, victory and defeat are worthwhile experiences for children and it’s nice if we don’t have to, say, go to war to get them.

There are also great narratives to be plucked from the sports page. There are heroes and villains, drawn out plot lines, legacies and tightly wound climaxes. There are stories of great success and, as any Toronto Maple Leafs fan knows, stories of epic loss and devastation. All of these stories unfold in real time, yes, but they are also crafted and brought to life by the most talented of sports writers and witnessed by the rest of us.

Like anything in life, sports fanaticism does need to be tempered. I have no tolerance for drunken hooligans using their hometown team as an excuse to get wasted and wreak havoc. You definitely need to steel yourself and your children against the mob mentality at large sporting events. Cheering is fine, throwing detritus on the playing surface is not. I also like to err on the side of not painting your entire chest the team colours. But to each their own.

As for us, it’s only a few short months before the hockey season starts up anew. We’ll be fine.

Image source.