TNBNT
A friend and I often discuss the way professional sports, and especially athlete's attitudes, have changed over the years. In my case, I believe that the "pro's" have become such one way streets, caring only about themselves, I've simply given up. Because, for years, I lived and died with my teams, ferociously supporting their efforts and rooting my heart out, but today, with the exception of golf and football, I watch no sports at all and care nothing at all about any of them.
It's hard for me to say precisely which sport I cared about most when younger. Because I played several and loved them all. But I guess the two leaders would be baseball and basketball, playing incessantly all summer and continuing indoor basketball through the winter.
I also swam competitively, and did some diving (no triple gainers or back flips off thirty foot boards though.) A little pick-up football here and there, though nothing really worth mentioning. And, later in life, though I don't really think it's a "sport" but more of a pastime, up until this very season, I played about a gazillion rounds of golf all told.
So, because of my own interest in these activities, professionals were very important, because they set examples and illustrated the finer points of the games. Beyond that, they demonstrated the epitome of professionalism on the field (this was before the press began disclosing the other aspects of pro's lives.) And then, it seems, one by one, my illusions began blowing up.
The first to go was basketball, which was horrible for me because of my passion for the Knicks. But my heroes were long gone by the time Dennis Rodman showed up in her wedding dress with more tatoo's than skin. And I don't know why they called Jordan "Air" because he "walked" an awful lot more than he flew. Then, of course, there was Barkley a totally uncoordinated sack of blob who possessed a 5000 watt mouth. Putting it all together, those clowns and their disciples killed a wonderful sport.
As I recall, though its fuzzy because it was a while ago, the last baseball game I watched (for only about two minutes) was when the Boston Red Sox showed up with most of the (guys?) having longer hair than my daughter. I stayed tuned for a couple of minutes because I thought they were showing the line-up for the Miss America contest. But no, when it turned out that these ladies were really the Red Sox, I changed the channel and haven't gone back to baseball since.
So, one by one, between agents, sponsors and uncaring players themselves grabbing for every nickel with both hands, each of the professional sports is slowly eroding their fan base and drifting closer and closer to non-existence. And, I can certainly see that happening.
Because, for the reasons listed, I was really upset when I could no longer stomach these poor excuses for athletes ruin great sports. And I couldn't imagine getting along without them, even though I couldn't stand the participants. Yet, now it's quite a few years later and I not only don't miss them, I'll never go back because, except for the memories, they're completely out of my life.
But, there's one memory that stands out that I think illustrates how the great ones used to be. Many, many years ago there was this baseball player who had a TV show on NBC in New York. I got tickets and was in the audience one Saturday afternoon watching that show: Joe DiMaggio's Dugout. His guest that day was Dick Kazmaeir, Princeton quarterback who'd just won the Heisman trophy.
I had a huge autograph collection at the time, so when the show was over I hung around for a few minutes. And, lo and behold, Joltin' Joe and his guest stayed on the stage, sitting and talking together. I politely approached and asked Mr. D for his autograph to which he smiled and instantly agreed. Then I sheepishly told him I'd accidentally left my stuff at home in the excitement to get to the show, so I had no pen. He pulled one out of his jacket pocket.
When I further explained that I had no paper either, he calmly reached for an empty Wheaties box, the sponsor, and tore off the top. After he signed the box top and handed it to me, I gratefully thanked him and turned away, about to leave. That's when he stopped me and asked "What about him?" nodding at his guest. "What about him?" I asked him back. Mr. DiMaggio replied that he thought I'd want Mr. Kazmier's autograph too, and asked for the box top back, then gave it to the quarterback to sign.
Obviously, I never forgot that experience and its impact, despite how many years have gone by. The class, humanity and kindness displayed by an all-time legend make quite an impression. And perhaps, that's one of the things that set the true athletes apart. Because today I not only don't remember anything good any athletes done (except Arnold Palmer, Chad Pennington and Dick Lynch) I don't even remember to watch any of their games.
That's it for today folks.
Adios
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