It was inevitable. Returning from Columbus, the euphoria of my “Weekend About Nothing” was, for the time being, trumped by the reality of today. It had to be.
Locally, friends grieve, consumed with the demise of the Cavs. Me? I ask, in the scheme of things, Who gives a flying _______?
Don’t get me wrong. I’m neither bored nor jaded. Still, the life and death axis of sports? Been there, done that. And no, I’ve not grown old…just focusing elsewhere—like the real world.
There WAS a time: my soul’s been bloodied by sports. On the field, in the stands, on the tube…this heart’s been broken.
At Red Right 88. Subzero weather, upper deck with Al Oster. Draped–garbage bag over winter coat, (the kindly, if subliminal suggestion from my spouse.) Sipe threw the interception and 80,000 people rose as one, filing out in dead silence. Thirty years later both the garbage bag and wife are gone; I do have the memory.
In the Dog Pound for “The Drive.” Saw it all. And the overtime? Twenty-three years later Karlis’s kick was still wide left. Like I said, I was there. A year later—“The Fumble.” Sure—we were only going in for the tie—but it hurt. Then.
Jose Mesa? Watched it.
“Jordan’s shot?” Cringed.
Get this, though: in each case I turned the TV off, went to bed, and woke up the next day with ten fingers, ten toes, and…a life.
Maybe I’m just angry…or frustrated…or, in my own way, lonely. God, Friday was ugly. And the day plus that followed…
Dwelling on the negative, I was isolating. Doing so all the while knowing it was neither my style nor healthy.
(My shrink Tom says there’s nothing wrong with anger…nothing wrong with feeling. He says “Identify it for what it is…then move on.”)
So I am… again. As best I can. With the tools I have…whatever. Went to two meetings yesterday, talked to Tom, shared, prayed. Met with my sponsor. Between it all, just the kick in the ass I needed.
I’m back.
Sure, our family has health issues—both here and on the coast. And yes, each of us is scared, apprehensive, and yet confident all at once. Clearly there are other hurts too painful to blog.
But I’m back on my game. Back in my rhthym. Slid for a day, (maybe two), but I’m in it to win it—this game of life. And I can’t win it alone.
Friday’s gone…Saturday’s past…and today I have family, friends and faith to push through the crap. The present is indeed a gift.
And so it was that I woke up this morning, thanked God for THIS day, and BOUNCED out of bed— grateful for my ten fingers, my ten toes…and my life