My Personal Sports Obsession

While there may be no such thing as a "typical" childhood, I think it's fair to say that there are some who hewed a little closer to the idealized norm than others. Count me among the others. I wasn't out in the backyard playing catch with dad. I was playing football, basketball, baseball (or, more accurately, wiffle ball) with all the other latch-key kids in the lower middle class neighborhood where I grew up.

Dad wasn't around. And Mom wasn't driving me to piano lessons. Mom was working, doing her very best to make chicken salad from the chicken [insert imagination] she earned from working multiple jobs. Like a lot of other latch key kids, I was supervised by my grandmother, which is to say, I was hardly supervised at all. My male role models were uncles who, during various stints of bad fortune (fortune being defined to include the obvious consequences of bad behavior), resided with us. Unfortunately, my maternal grandfather apparently had a dominant bad fortune gene, as all four of his male descendants resided with us at some point when I was growing up.

I learned a lot from my uncles. And more than just learning "what not to do," though one uncle taught a masters course in the subject, one he apparently feels the need to repeat on a near annual basis. But the other uncles -- two in particular -- were, despite their obvious flaws, good souls to whom a young child with no other guidance would clearly gravitate. They didn't teach me how to work in the shop; they didn't help me with math problems. They engrained me with an overwhelming, and no doubt unhealthy, love for sports.

Okay, okay, so they probably shouldn't have exposed me to "teasers," "parlays," "juice," and all the other accompaniments of the (illegal) gambling trade. I'm also no parenting expert, but it was also probably not the best idea for them to actually let me bet on football games, at least until I won so many NFL games in a row that they cut me off "for my own benefit" (even as a young child, I never bought that BS; they clearly didn't place the bets, hoping that they could teach me a valuable lesson other than the one I learned, which is to place bets in Vegas where you get a receipt). Let's put aside, though, moral questions about whether exposure to such material was healthy for a young child (I don't remember when I made my first bet, but I'm sure it was before the age of 8). It would be a serious misconception to think that my uncles cared about sports because they had money riding on the games; they bet on the sports becaue they loved them so much. And that's just not something you can fake.

They both had a virtual encyclopedic knowledge of all the major sports, which at the time were football (professional and college), baseball (pro), and basketball (pro and college). They were also astute fans of golf and tennis, despite the fact that neither had ever been to a country club (at least the non-custodial versions). Moreover, despite the fact that neither of my uncles was a particularly talented athlete, they were both competent basketball, golf, and tennis players. I remember going to watch them play in industrial league basketball games, where one of the uncles was one of the stars of the league. And occasionally, they would let me tag along on a trip to the local muni cow pasture that was generously called a golf course.

When they weren't working or playing sports, they were watching them on TV. They weren't the type of sports fans who simply love the home town teams. They loved watching every team play. They watched the local MLB game of the week; they watched the Braves on WTBS and the Cubs on WGN; they watched the local NFL games on Sunday and were steadfast followers of Monday Night Football. When a golf tournament came on, or when Wimbeldon was on TV, that was what was on the tube at my house. Thus, despite not having the means or access to play golf or tennis with any regularity, I grew up watching Watson duel Nickalus, with McEnroe trying to unseat Borg. I imagined myself chipping in on the 17th hole of Pebble Beach (and had the dice game to match); I pictured myself arching my back and hitting the slice serve of McEnroe. And I would periodically venture down to a local basketball court to try to emulate Larry Bird's fadeaway jumper.

When I was a child, I knew that I'd be a professional athlete. It wasn't a question. It was simply a matter of choosing the sport, and that was going to be difficult because I loved them all (except soccer, which, at the time I was growing up, was basically reserved for unathletic kids who were terrible at other sports). Unfortunately, I probably should have been forced into a soccer program, as my athletic prowess never came close to equaling my love of athletic competition. I moved from sport to sport, trying to find the one that would allow me to fulfill my dream of becoming a professional athlete.

Sadly, slow and not particularly well-coordinated aren't exactly hallmarks of professional athletes. I became a competent, and in some cases, even above-average, athlete in a number of sports. If there was a decathalon for sports mediocrity, I might not win, but I'd threaten to make an appearance on the medal stand. I was a decent football player; I was a great outfielder but not a particularly effective hitter (something about wanting to avoid the speeding object headed in my direction); I was a decent tennis and golf player but had no formalized training so my unorthodox strokes inevitably led to inconsistency; and I was a fair basketball player but didn't have the speed, ball-handling ability, or "jumps" to ever threaten anything other than a three-on-three contest.

As reality set in, and as I focused on not repeating the mistakes of other family members, I slowly gave up my dream of being a professional athlete and focused on my career. The over-exposure to sports was not without some professional benefit, as apparently all the arguments we had over sporting questions turned me into a skilled-debator, which ultimately led to college and then law school.

I've been practicing law for over a decade. It is a noble profession. And it is an important one. It is also an extremely difficult career where success is often defined by one's willingness to sacrifice our most sacred and utterly finite treasure, time.

Having grown up without much in terms of financial security, I never gave serious thought to actually capitalizing on my love of sports and channeling that energy into building a career around the thing I love most. And once down the path, having acquired all the financial obligations that come with a family and professional career, it became apparent that there was no going back. It's not that I do not enjoy the law. Far from it. It's just that the law can never be Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe playing that 4th set tiebreaker; it can never be Bird to DJ under the basket; it can never be Kirk Gibson limping around first base on his home run trot; it can never be Cal Ripken hitting a home run on the night he broke Lou Gherig's record; or Ben Crenshaw winning the Masters the week after his mentor died. It can't have the grace of Michael Jordan, or the unspoken joy of Walter Payton. It can never be "Do you believe in Miracles?"

Why do I love sports? Because I don't have to ask myself why, I just do. I always have.