I Hate Sports

I hated sports when I was growing up in sports-mad Philadelphia. Much of civic life and conversation revolved around the Phillies, Eagles, Big 5 College Basketball, and the 76ers. Oh, let me not forget hockey and the Flyers, the "Broad Street Bullies." It seemed to me that all this running around and incomprehensible rules was a waste of time. Worse than that, it was an ENFORCED waste of time. Kid life was like one protracted WWII movie in which knowing baseball facts meant you were "one of us," and being clueless about 'balls' & 'strikes' marked one as a social outcast. My 'sports dyslexia' did gave me lots of time to read, and is probably the Genesis of my literacy appetites and pretensions. "You throw like a girl!" was the huge schoolyard taunt. Gym class, and conversations about pitching or open field running (in which kids repeated what they heard their sports-fanatics parents say) were a gauntlet to run. "How about those Phils?!" was usually safe . . . unless it was basketball season. What a colossal bore! Fortunately, one inning 'out in left field' usually exempted me from further play. "Where's that Kool Aid?

Of course, the sound of By Sahm calling a Phillies game on a tinny am radio became the sound of summer by osmosis, and to this day hearing a baseball game on a radio makes me feel that my grandfather, passed these many years, is sitting nearby groaning about a botched play. And I have one brilliant memory of being taken to see the Phils at the old Connie Mack Stadium. (Pre-Veteran's Stadium, pre-Citizens Bank Field). My father drove us into the very heart of the crowded, red-brick city. Cobblestone streets, trolley tracks and tall buildings didn't say "baseball" to me, and when we entered the stadium, it resembled nothing so much as a factory. Bare girders, and cement floors felt more like the subway than a place for games. Then we topped the aisle and suddenly were looking down at a perfect, GREEN field in the middle of the city. I can still see that GREEN in my mind's eye, bright & iconic as only certain disconnected childhood memories are. But for young me, sports was one of the main things to rebel against. No, I didn't want to go to 'the game.' I'd rather moon about the Philadelphia Museum of Art, visit the University of Pennsylvania's mummys, or read indoors, thank you very much. "Bye now."

After puberty I realized that I'd better act more like a normal person if I wanted to have a 'normal' life. My guy-friend Jim Labig was a Cincinnati Reds fan, and so we went to the "Vet" whenever they were in town. I actually enjoyed being with Jim, the only person I could stand to be around or talk to sometimes. I enjoyed the crowd, the smells, and (strangely) the fact that I couldn't really follow the intricacies of the game made for a relaxing interlude. In those days before cell/mobile phones no one could reach you out at the ball park either.

Fast forward to 1980. I'm on the roof of a building with my schoolmates, overlooking Broad Street. The whole Philadelphia region is buzzing with uncontained glee and relief : the Phillies have won the world series at last, and in a moment they will parade below us! "If only Grandpa could've lived to see this!" we all thought as one.

And now, like Alexander Joy Cartwright, founder of the first professional Baseball Club, the 'Knickerbockers' and acknowledged 'Father of Baseball,' I live in Honolulu. It's my home (and he's buried here). Through a Hawaii player I am again rooting for the Phils. Memories arise....After a Fall day roaring around upstate New York on motorcycles with my pal Frank, head full of fresh wind and foliage vistas, we entered the City around dusk. Suddenly iconic Yankee Stadium, all lit up, rose into view under an Autumn moon. A New York City Saturday night was ahead of me as I thought: 'Remember this moment!" and I know that I always will. . .

Today the Phillies and Maui boy Shane "Flyin Hawaiian" Victorino could win the World Series. Much will play in my head as I watch that game: Philadelphia small kid times, Hawaii Pride, and friends who have passed on too early. But I know too that they live on in the crack of the bat; Once again Grandpa is sitting behind me (I know he's there!) and Jim is beside me on a sunny endless day . . . when I'm at the ball park. . . Because I hate sports. . . Aloha! Cloudia