Purpose of Sports

By:Jordan Honeycutt What is the purpose of sports? Some may say they are a diversion, hobby or activity of leisure and you would be right. I, however, think that they can also be a burning passion that lifts some people to extreme highs and drags them to devastating lows. For me, growing up, sports was all I had. Their were no brothers or sisters to torment or enjoy the company of, not many kids in the neighborhood to play with, just my parents, which was more than enough. I can recall many a days, going out in the backyard after school, while waiting for dad to get home from work and while mom cooked dinner, and re-enacting a game or creating my own. My games would be complete with a running clock (in my head) and in-game commentary. Since I could walk and talk, sports have been like a religion to me. Heck, it is my religion. I have been lucky enough to have been blessed with an innate joy for sports that, other than my parents, fishing (which may or may not be considered a sport,) and collecting baseball cards, I’ve never felt before. All of my teams: Duke Blue Devils basketball; Tennessee Volunteers football; St. Louis Cardinals baseball; Washington Redskins football; and Los Angeles Lakers basketball have won multiple championships. Each time, it has been one of the most exhilarating feelings that I have ever had. I’m convinced that if someone plucked my heart from my chest, that it would be in the shape of a Blue Devil, Power T, Indian head, Great Lake and Cardinal. I remember just a year ago, while a senior at the wonderful and amazing University of Tennessee, I almost had a noise complaint filed against me twice during the 2011 MLB postseason. I was doing laundry and eating dinner when my all-time favorite baseball player, Albert Pujols, went yard three times during Game 3 of the 2011 World Series. Upon “El Hombre” hitting his third bomb, I leapt up from our couch and yelled “hell yeah” or something of the sort at the top of my lungs. I thought that would be the most excited a baseball game would ever make me. I was wrong. Not even a week later, the greatest game that I have ever seen took place. Game 6 of that same World Series, the Cardinals were trailing three games to two and were down to their final out. Check that, final strike. Texas Rangers closer Neftali Feliz was on the mound, with young, relatively unknown David Freese at the dish. I sat on the edge of the couch in a somber mood, knowing we were about to lose. If anyone had to beat us, I would have wanted it to be Texas, due to my affinity for one Josh Hamilton. But, this was Redbird World Series baseball, I had only experienced this three times in my life. Anyway, when Freese lofted his fly ball to right and I saw that Nelson Cruz was out of position, I again, leapt up from the couch waving the ball back, frantically chanting “go baby, go baby, go baby…” Then Cruz bumped up against the wall and the ball caromed off the wall above him and into the field of play, tying the game at seven. You would have thought Freese was my son. The Cardinals couldn’t win it in the ninth, so it was on to extra innings. I plopped back down and gathered myself to watch the ending. Then, in the top of the tenth, my second favorite player, Hamilton, launched a two-run shot into the St. Louis night, putting Texas back on top 9-7. I remember saying aloud “Damn, no and then instantly, great for you Josh.” Then came the bottom of the tenth, we’re toast right? Again, for the second time in the game, Redbird Nation was down to our final out, check that again final strike. With two runners on base and the game still 9-7, Lance Berkman delivered a single up the middle that again sent me into delirium. We had tied the game again and forced an 11th inning. By this time, I had that hyperventilating-like breathing that you get upon extreme excitement and called the biggest Cards fan I know, my father, on the phone. When the Cards retired Texas damage-free in the top of the 11th, our conversation turned serious. “We can’t pull this off, can we,” dad asked. “I don’t know ,” I said. “But if we don’t I may have a stroke at 28.” Freese was the first batter in the bottom of the 11th. I can remember telling dad how much I wished it was Pujols leading off, but as it turned out, it couldn’t have been any better guy. Texas brought in a no-name reliever in Mark Lowe. After two pitches, Lowe readied himself to Freese and delivered toward home. Freese swung and connected and as soon as he did, I was in mid conversation with dad. I instantaneously dropped my phone and ran around our tiny college apartment screaming in hurrahs and expletives in jubilation. I heard dad saying “Jordan? Son? Jordan?” I picked up the phone and we celebrated together as if we were on the team. Moral of the story, is that’s what sports can do for people. I don’t ever expect to get married or have kids, even though I would love to, but either those things, or myself or my parents hitting the lottery are the only things that could bring that feeling out of me. I’ve been through the flipside of that emotion as well. In the 1998-99 season, Duke had what many including myself, think is the most talented team they’ve ever had. They had gone 31-1, were undefeated in the ACC and had beaten arch-rival North Carolina three times by an average of 21.5 points. This season was going to be perfect, we were going to win a national title and throttle Carolina three times. I still have the t-shirt with the score of those three UNC games and the title “Triple Crown” at the top. It was the night of the National Championship game against UCONN and plans were ready. Dad and I would go on our traditional trip to Durham the next morning to get championship swag. After a way over-his-head first half performance from UCONN two guard Ricky Moore, halftime was tight. During the second half, the game stayed nip-and-tuck with Duke guards Trajan Langdon and William Avery missing threes that they usually nailed. The Blue Devils weren’t going inside to the best player in the country, Elton Brand. Langdon had a half-court three with seconds to go to tie it, on which he was clearly tripped by the way, that clanged off the rim and Duke had lost. We were too good to lose that game and it was one of those situations where a team could play another one 10 times and only win one and this had to be the one. I remember crying over that loss, 16 years old and it hurt, I was sobbing. Is that too much? Some may say so, but to me it is my escape, my calming mechanism and my profession. There is only one job that I would trade being a sports writer for and that is being a professional athlete. I can remember many times as a youth when I was having a bad day or some dumb kid hurt my feelings or whatever had happened, it was easy to cheer myself up. I would grab a composition book and ink pen, turn on the T.V. and sit beside my father to watch a game. Everything else just went away. For those few hours, I was at peace just being there watching a game with dad. Since I took the job here in New Bern, I still do those same things today. You can find me on a typical weeknight in the winter, spring or summer sitting on the couch, watching and keeping score of a baseball or basketball game. I love it, absolutely love it. No life? Well that may be your opinion, but for me, it’s the best life. Now, don’t get me wrong when finances allow or an opportunity presents itself, I’ll hang out or go on a vacation to get away, but how great is it to have something that brings you joy and costs nothing but time. Through tough times of being treated unjustly in high school and from dealing with an obnoxious college roommate for one year, I could dispel all of that nonsense just by clinging to sports. All kids should be able to care and love something the way that I and many like me, do sports. Nothing makes me happier than seeing kids playing the games that I grew up loving and playing. After all, when I think America, I don’t think politics, republican or democrat. I don’t think about any particular religion. I definitely think baseball, hot dogs and apple pie.