Occasionally life demands a foolish act of sacrifice. Work drags time to a crawl. Gravity increases bringing each step closer to the ground and reality begins to constrict and tighten the screws. Cold weather can magnify the effects, minutes last for days. Clouds, rain, long nights cause you to suspect the sun isn’t yellow, it’s chicken.
Something needs to be done. We, my wife and I, like to take short trips, a day or two, and get away.
This year we decided to go to a basketball game in State College PA. I am a Nebraska Cornhusker fan and they were playing Penn State. State College is a gem hidden in the rugged, beautiful mountains of Central Pennsylvania.
If you ever decide to go to a college basketball game Penn State is a great choice. Basketball seems to be only a minor concern for the residents and fans of the university. Tickets for great seats are ridiculously cheap. We sat on the end-line second row. The Penn State athletic director was only three seats away, proof of how good our tickets were.
We had a great hotel room, frigid cold weather, and four days off. We walked around the small town tasting local favorites. We shun chain restaurants, and fast food when we travel. We want authentic, local, lived in favorites. Places that don’t exist anywhere else.
We went all in. We even tried a Peanut Butter Burger at Wild Bill Pickles. It was fantastic. A perfectly fried burger with two pieces of crispy bacon and bleu cheese, strong bleu cheese. And, of course, peanut butter. But with all the other flavors the peanut butter was more texture than taste, a hint of sweet creaminess mixed in with wild, strong flavors. You really need to throw caution to the wind while traveling.
The game was the ultimate goal, though. Two teams battling. Less than ten feet away. The ultimate drama.
America’s obsession. Sports. It is on twenty-four hours a day. Sports talk radio. ESPN, Fox Sports. If you are of a mind you can spend the whole day hearing about sports.
I’m not. I love a game. But, when it is over it is time to move on. The game is the thing. Competition.
When it was over our team lost. Sad, but it happens. Someone has to lose. And there will be calls for the coach to be fired. Criticism from people who never played the game, at least not at that level. Phone lines to call in shows will explode. Facebook, Twitter, online press sites will be buried under angry comments. Fans have rights, too. I guess.
But, from where we sat that night, from our point of view, it was a different story. Those young men, those children, walked right past us. And yes, they are young men, but yes they are children, young enough to be my sons. Young enough to be my grandsons if I would have grown up earlier in life. You could see the heartache in their eyes. You could see the disappointment weighing them down with every step.
They looked completely despondent. After working so hard all of their young lives. Attending basketball camps throughout their teen years, even earlier. Travel teams, high school teams, summer league, a full-time job.
And now, they just looked awful. They looked as if they might never smile again. I wanted to take them aside and tell them, “hey, it’s only a game.” But, it wasn’t. It was 40 minutes of painful memories and anguish. And they carried it in their eyes, on their young faces. In the tired, tormented expressions that aged the young faces.
I will never look at a loss the same again. I will always remember how it hurt them. Everybody has suffered defeat, but few us have had it dissected on television. Few of us have spent so much of our lives working toward a goal.
I remember the words of Bill Russell, “it isn’t because they aren’t trying.” Nobody felt any worse about the loss than they did. I promise you, I saw it.
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