Sunday, August 31, 2014

A Love Rekindled

When I was a kid, I played little league baseball. The man who taught me, my father, was a futbol guy. Regardless, he would come home after a grueling 12-plus hour shift in the rancid heat to a big-headed, funny haired little boy with his glove and baseball in hand ready for the day's lesson. All evening, we would work and practice until I got everything down perfect. We dealt with the heat, the humidity, the mosquitos, and my mother telling us to come inside to eat. This was my life as a boy.

I love sports.

I never understood what his labor of love truly meant until I reached manhood. It is things like this that we take for granted until it is too late in the game. Him and I, through different perspectives, had the same passion. It was the relationship and the bond that was forged on those midsummer nights on that street, at that house across from the school. The laughs. The frustration. That "aye you go" when things went right. All towards the common goal.

I love sports.

Fast forward 20 years. I have one son that has found his niche in music. The other two are fledgeling baseball prospects who are taking their lumps. Over the summer, I felt a feeling of nirvana. All of my boys and I, outside in the yard, throwing the ball around. We were forging the bond that my father and I forged all those years ago in our yard on that street at the house across from the school. The laughs. The lessons. The chasing the ball to the neighbor's house because one of them hit the ball too hard.

I love sports.

Today, a few things happened in the Houston sports scene that you all may become aware of. If not, let me recap:

What does this have anything to do with the first part of this post?

Simple.

I am obviously not a professional athlete, but I still continue to have a love affair with sports. I don't get to go out there and play everyday because it is unlikely that my current employer would understand.

It doesn't matter.

Call me weird, but days like today make me realize why I spend so much time refreshing my Twitter feed looking for the latest update. It's dramatic, exhilerating, and unpredictable. There is something about not knowing what will happen next.

Will Ryan Mallett be worth a damn? When will he eventually replace Ryan Fitzpatrick? Is Keenum going to end up in Baltimore and be reunited with Gary Kubiak? Will Manning return to his pre-injury play? Will Jet Terry make a difference with the Rockets? Have the Astros turned the corner?

The answer? I have no clue.

And that is a beautiful thing.

Admit it. Sports would be boring if it were predictable. It wouldn't garner the feelings it gets if we knew what to expect. There wouldn't be guys like me typing up blogs about how much he loves sports to a few dozen people. It's like politics without Bill O'Reilly. It's reality TV for all people. There are storylines and plot twists and drama that can make a grown man cry like a little kid. Sports can make an atheist praise the Lord above or damn someone to hell.

Sports take me back to when I was a boy. When a day like today happens, I get all worked up and excited. I get my hopes up and think that maybe, just maybe, things are headed in the right direction. No hard feelings about the previous season. No more 2-14. No more dramatic first round playoff exit. No more 100 loss seaons. It's all done and over with. It all begins again.

God, I love sports.

Until next time cabrones,

Juan

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