It’s easy to become cynical about sports. It’s equally easy to scoff “it’s just a game.”
And then you have a morning like I did today.
At 9:30 AM, my cellphone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize from an area code I couldn’t recall ever seeing. I didn’t answer, assuming it was either Rachel at Credit Card Services telling me of some incredible deal, the IRS saying if I didn’t mail them a check in the next two hours armed agents would be arresting me, or great news about some Disney vacation I’d allegedly just won.
But when I checked the voice mail, there was an eerily familiar voice on the recording. It sounded like my late Dad, but turned out to be my uncle John, someone I hadn’t spoken to in 12 years. That was at my father’s funeral in August of 2006. Their voices were so similar, I did a double take.
He was calling from his home in Harrisburg, PA to tell me he didn’t know anybody else in the family to call, and remembered still having my cellphone number from back at the funeral of my father. He was calling to say his wife of over 60 years, my aunt, had passed away Sunday night. His voice gave away his age and the events he had just been through, which is what you would expect of someone 90 years old who had just lost wife.
We visited for about 10 minutes, and to change the subject before saying goodbye, I said “Penn State going to be any good this year?”
His mood changed. “Well yeah…yeah they are,” and the next 10 minutes we reminisced about Penn State. I’m not sure there was ever a conversation between the two of us since I was 8 years old that didn’t involve Penn State football. He loved them through the highs and the lows. He never went there and I don’t believe he’s even been on their campus. But they were his team, and they made him happy.
“You know the quarterback is from here in Ashburn, don’t you?” I offered. “Trace?” he answered. “I love Trace. And his parents are wonderful. I love the whole family. Do you know them?”
I allowed that I did. And for at least a few minutes, my Uncle sounded normal again, as I could feel him smiling about his passion for Penn State football through the phone.
Such is the power of sports.
I share this story because I’ve seen many similar stories with our site. We have a specific email account –
But in all the questions, it’s the last sentence most add to the email that makes both Hootie’s and my day. The sentence will wish us good luck and they will share a memory of when they used to read Hootie’s stories with their Dads. How they went to a game with their Dad and talked about what Hootie had written in the morning paper. Or a feature he wrote on a specific player who was always special to their family.
There are people who email asking if they can just talk to Jerry. They are usually older fans who have a powerful connection to UVA sports, and with that passion is an almost equal connection to Jerry. They’ve linked the two together in their memories and want to know they can still read what he says as they have for 36 years.
More than a few times we’ve texted back and forth realizing while we may be building a business, there’s something bigger going on with this site to many families with several generations of UVA fans and alumni.
I don’t think you see these kinds of things anywhere else but sports. Our memories of good times are many times wired to where we were and what we were doing when a favorite team overperformed and did something great. I can’t some days remember my passwords, but I can remember 70-Chip when John Riggins went off the left side in the 4th quarter for the winning touchdown and the Redskins’ first Super Bowl title. I remember nothing of 1967 when I was in the fifth grade, but I can quote you the starting lineups of Tim McCarver, Orlando Cepeda, Julian Javier, Dal Maxvill, Mike Shannon, Lou Brock, Curt Flood and Roger Maris for the World Series-winning St. Louis Cardinals. My memory fades on the pitchers, but Bob Gibson, Steve Carlton and Nelson Briles were somewhere in there.
I’ve seen many a father-son who couldn’t agree on whether the sky is blue but could reach some agreement when they discussed their mutual favorite team. I’ve seen others who couldn’t stand to be in the same room, but they were perfectly content sitting side by side at Scott Stadium.
Sometimes it is just a game. But sometimes it’s a whole lot more.
And my Uncle? Well, the McSorleys do live here in Ashburn, so I sent a quick email to Trace’s Dad, sharing the story and asking if on one of his many trips to see his son, he could bring back some Penn State merchandise I could bring to Harrisburg, PA.
The answer was immediate. Of course that could be arranged. Like, as in, I’ll have something for you within the next 10 or 12 days. Upon which I will then drive to Harrisburg, pay my respects, and try to get that smile back on a distant Uncle’s face.
Few other things in life can do that.
Sports can.
