Sporting Moments

Some people measure life in hours, some in years. For me, much of my life can be measured by great sports moments.

I was sitting in the floor of my parents bedroom on October 14, 1992, when Francisco Cabrera hit the game winning single in the bottom of the ninth of Game 7 of the NLCS to score David Justice and Sid Bream. I quickly moved from rocking back and forth, holding my knees and biting my nails to squealing and jumping then to being shushed by my mom, who had just finished putting my youngest sister to bed.

Three years earlier, almost to the day, I was sitting in the same spot watching the Giants play the A's in the World Series when the San Francisco Earthquake of 1989 struck. The rocking back and forth and biting of nails for much different reasons this time. I remember the relief when I learned that my cousin, who lived in San Francisco, was safe and sound.

I can tell you on exactly which lap my dad would fall asleep each Sunday while watching the NASCAR race together, and I can recount the countless conversations where my dad reminded me of why Dale Earnhardt was the best driver to ever shift the gears of a stock car, each lap a reminder of why I loved watching races with my daddy.

I was sitting on the couch next to my mom on March 28, 1992, when Grant Hill threw a pass to Christian Laettner in the final seconds of the NCAA Finals with 2.1 seconds left in overtime. Laettner's last second jumper moved the Blue Devils one point ahead of my beloved Kentucky Wildcats to a 104-103 victory. My mom was there to pick up the pieces of my broken heart.

On Saturday, October 28, 1995, my sister and I jumped up and down embracing as the Braves finally won the World Series. Three years later, on September 8, 1998, Amy and I sat in the floor of our apartment watching in awe as Mark McGwire hit the home run that broke Roger Maris's single-season home run record. Regardless of the questions that later surrounded McGwire, my sister and I, who rarely missed a Braves game or historic baseball moment, will never forget that moment.

My daughter Anna was born during half-time of the Kentucky- LSU basketball game, which I watched right up until delivery, then of course, quickly forgot was being played once they placed her in my arms. What can I say, her baby shower theme was Kentucky Wildcats, complete with a basketball cake!

On January 10th of this year, my kids donned Auburn orange & blue and cheered their hearts out for the Tigers, right up until they just couldn't cheer anymore and fell asleep on the couch. My husband and I continued the cheering, a roller coaster ride of emotions. The night finally ended with my husband and I tearfully embracing as time expired, and Auburn stood victorious. Without saying a word, we sprinted upstairs for the toilet paper and erupted into laughter as we attempted to roll the large oak tree in our front yard.

This morning, when my husband mentions that the Tour de France begins tomorrow, I smile and grow excited. For three weeks, after we tuck the kids in for the night, my husband sits in the floor of the den, back against the coffee table, while I curl up on the couch. He turns the television to Versus, and we watch as Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador battle for the yellow jersey. While Bob Rolle and Phil Liggett share stories about the riders, I also listen intently as my husband explains why some riders wear green jerseys and some polka dotted, something about rookies and kings of the mountain.

Then, it hits me, that, sure, I love sports, but it's not necessarily the thrill of the competition that speeds my pulse, it's the stories shared while watching, the experience of spending time with those you love as you watch your favorite team prevail against great odds, a reminder that maybe you, too, can defy odds. Who remembers where they were when what's-his-name won American Idol? But who doesn't remember where they were when Auburn or Alabama won a National Championship or the Braves finally won a World Series? Who doesn't remember what they were wearing that day, or who they were embracing when the winning touchdown, basket, or run was scored? It's why when we're sharing that great sports moment with someone who, perish the thought, isn't a sports fan, we always mention that we were with our dad, sister, husband, son, or daughter, because they're really the reason the moment was so special, so memorable, and I think for most of us, that's the reason we're sports fans.

Real Sports Hero

When I was home from college for summer break, I remember clearly looking forward to curling up each evening on the couch in my parents' den and watching the Braves game, uninterrupted for hours. No classes, no tests, no deadlines. Just the pure thrill of summer baseball. Sometimes my siblings would join me, unless they had dates. (Fortunately, for me, my husband saw through the supergeek exterior.) But normally, I watched alone. For me, no matter what was going on in my life, I knew that almost every evening on TBS, the Braves would be there. Skip, Pete, Don, and Joe became like family friends. "That ball is hit hard. It's going, going.....and caught by the second baseman." It was like comfort food during a time in my life when things never seemed certain.

Much has changed over the past year for the Braves. No longer are they on TBS. The network has now opted to show reruns of Family Guy and Everybody Loves Raymond. (I hope that's working out for them.) When I turn the channel to Fox Sports South, or whatever it is, I now only see Joe and some red-headed guy. Mark Lemke has moved from second base to the radio booth, and Ron Gant is now host of the pre/post-game shows. What has remained constant, though, are two players who have earned my respect more as each year passes, Chipper Jones and John Smoltz. And we learned yesterday, that Smoltz could possibly be hanging up his uniform for good. Season and possibly career-ending surgery looms heavy on the horizon.

As someone who resists change, I've weathered the recent changes to the team rather well, but my heart was heavy yesterday upon hearing the news. John Smoltz is more than a pitcher; he's a phenomenal pitcher, but he is also a class-act, who quietly breaks records then eases gracefully from the spotlight to focus on family and charity. While I'd cringe watching Greg Maddux drop the f-bomb when a pitch didn't go the way he'd intended, I'd admire Smoltz's poise and character. A Christian, who doesn't just "talk the talk," he truly lives his faith and has earned the respect of players and coaches everywhere. In his own words, "I’m still going to go out and give it all I’ve got. I just don’t play for the records or the popularity anymore. I play for no one other than the Lord now and when you play only for Him it really removes the pressure you once had and you can go out and have fun and work hard"(Serving Christ Through Baseball,Cash, 1999).

In an era where performance enhancing drugs have become more common than sunflower seeds in the dugout, Smoltz has always played by the rules. His faith in God and in the purity of the game have earned him quite a career, not only as a starter but also as a closer. He is the real deal, a true American sports hero. And while I realize he might be back next year as a lefty, I just wanted to say kudos to John. It has been a real pleasure to grow up watching you pitch with such grace, elegance, and character.

Can Congress Save Baseball?

When I was nine years old, I told my dad that I was going to be the first female pitcher in the majors. Never mind that the only thing I'd ever pitched was a fit; I knew even then I loved baseball.

When my youth group gathered in our church's basement in 1991 to watch the Atlanta Braves take on the Twins, the girls spent most of their time hoping Josh or Bob or whomever noticed how their little Braves t-shirts showed off their newly developing curves. I, on the other hand, wearing my lovely black United Colors of Benetton sweatshirt had only two concerns: where was the pizza and what time did the game start?

On October 14, 1992, I sat in the floor of my parents bedroom rocking back and forth, eyes glued to the set. My three other siblings were sound asleep. How, I'll never know; so much was on the line. In the bottom of the ninth inning, my Atlanta Braves had one last shot. Francisco Cabrera stepped up to the plate, a moment I'm sure he'd rehearsed since his little league days. Seconds later, Sid Bream was sliding and my mom was rushing into the room to quiet my excited screams. With tears in my eyes, jumping up and down, I shouted over and over, "We did it! We did it!"

Just a few examples of my love for the game. Let me repeat. I love baseball. Love it. And, yes, I am as upset about the recent findings of the Mitchell report as the next fan. That is why it might shock you to find out that it hasn't tempered my love of the sport or my excitement about the upcoming season. Why? Because I believe that most of those who play baseball respect the game and do not abuse performance enhancing drugs.

That being said should those who do abuse be punished? Sure. Should the game be cleaned up? Absolutely. Is it Congress's responsibility to do so? NO! Someone please tell me why the leaders of the free world are sitting in a room grilling baseball players and trainers about whether or not they abused steroids. Have they nothing better to do? If they are itching to clean something up, have you seen the U.S./Mexican border...has anyone watched prime-time television lately...been inside a school house?

Are we so above real-life problems in this nation that instead of trying to figure out how to prevent terrorism, our leaders are trying to clean up baseball. Really?! Baseball. Um...that is what keeps me lying awake at night...is Roger Clemens lying? No, actually, what keeps me up at night is worrying about whether my 2-year-old daughter will one day be offered meth by some creepy dealer on her way to school. Or am I safe within the borders of my own country? I'll bet if you interviewed any Joe off the street the state of American baseball would not top his list of great concerns.

And who is paying for these investigations, these plights into the depths of the nation's baseball problem? You are my friend. Your hard-earned tax dollars are being spent to try and figure out whether Roger is really lying, if Petite used, if McGwire's abused. Please don't misunderstand. I am not being flippant about drug abuse. I just don't think that Congress should be the one wielding the broom that is going to sweep baseball clean. They nab Clemens and Bonds on perjury charges; do they now go after Sosa, McGwire, and all the other scoundrels who knowingly lied under oath?

Is Congress really worried about little Johnny using because Clemens did or are they protecting their own investment...the game of baseball? Who knows, but instead of hunting for witches on the diamond, let's hunt for the real ghosts and goblins that hide beyond the alleys of our school yards looking for kids to hook. I think baseball can take care of its own with an actual drug policy that includes true consequences for breaking the rules. And Congress, could we please focus on more important things, like your 11% approval rating?

Baseball Blues

It began with a strike, where even the most ardent baseball fans lamented, "I'll never watch again." Yet, two sluggers gave us a glimmer of hope with a season-long chase that brought baseball back from the grave dug by the hands of its own players. Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa, it seemed, had saved baseball, convincing even the most hard-line skeptics to come back into the fold. Whispers of steroid abuse surfaced but were quickly hushed by the resurgence and economic gain sure to follow. Fast forward to today and the Mitchell report, where we learned, surprise, surprise, that abuse of illegal performance enhancing drugs is indeed widespread and has been since the epic home run battle of 1998. It seems baseball's virtuous witch hunt has reached its climax, now what?

Since the release of the report, I have been grappling with my own feelings and observations about the findings. I've struggled to decide if I care, if it even matters, and I think I've come to the conclusion that this report has saddened me. The Mitchell report reflects a troubling trend in society which is our ever-decreasing lack of good moral and ethical judgment. I'm sad because baseball, because professional sports, lacks character. Sports are what normally help to mold character, discipline individuals, force us to strive for the best, and long for that sense of immortality that comes with breaking records or heck, even earning a finisher's medal in a marathon. Yet, yesterday we realized that our national past time has come to represent a decline in basic character.

I am sad that players, who have abused illegal performance enhancing drugs, have so little character that they have taken up the mantra, "deny, deny, lie, lie," so long and with so much tenacity that somewhere along the way they have convinced themselves that what they tell is truth. I am sick of athletes telling us that they have no idea what they're injecting into their bodies, their main source of income. "Gee, Bob, I had no idea what was in the needle. You can't be suggesting that it is actually my responsibility to monitor what goes in my own body, can you?" Like that is supposed to make it all better. "Oh, I see. Well, we can't hold that against you, now can we, Mr. Baseball?"

At least Marion Jones, for whatever reason, perhaps a conscience that finally caught up with her, had the gumption to stand before us and say (paraphrased), "I'm guilty, and I'm sorry. I take the blame." (On judgment day, perhaps she can stand before the throne and look her Savior in the eye.) I am appalled that these athletes can not only look sports fans in the eye and lie, but that they can lie to their own children. Everybody is doing it, and somehow that makes it right. Shame on you athletes for sacrificing integrity, morality, and character for material gain, for greed. Of course, that is your own problem, or is it?

Senator Mitchell spent much of his speech expressing concern for the youth in this nation who look up to those players. While I have no idea how widespread teenage steroid abuse is, I am saddened that we, as parents, have come to the point that we allow our children to idolize mere human athletes to the point that those children will consider using illegal drugs to enhance their game so they can be just like their idols. Where are the coaches, trainers, PARENTS? Are we not sitting down with our own children to discuss who their heroes are and why? Are we not willing to say, "Well, you know Junior, most athletes aren't using and there is a big price to pay for those who are. If not now, sometime." Remember Ken Caminiti? Are we not teaching our children the benefits of hardwork for hardwork's sake, not monetary gain? When our children begin to use drugs for sports enhancement, shame on us for pointing our fingers to professional athletes when as parents, coaches, teachers, and trainers, we're the ones who dropped the ball somewhere.

I am also saddened that we have laws in this country that we fail to enforce. I KNOW that baseball did not have a policy in play. Say it with me, shame on you baseball! But, the law of this land does state that steroids are a controlled substance and much like narcotics, etc., can't be sold in the back of a gym. So, where is the law in all of this? Mr. Mitchell clearly pointed out in his press conference that the Justice Department does not prosecute users, they focus their efforts on those who sell. What is the point of having the law on the books, then, Mr. Mitchell? It seems that the lesson in this all is: do it, just don't get caught, and if you do, lie, but then we really can't do anything anyway, so why bother. And, I realize that nothing will be done.

Finally, I am saddened by Commissioner Bud Selig. His lack of concern, his lack of effort to stand up to the union, to the owners, to anyone really is appalling. His apparent apathy and lack of action and leadership have helped to propel this scandal to a level that will forever mar the integrity of baseball. He's quietly turned a blind eye to the problem his entire decade-long tenure. Now, baseball finally has a drug policy, but it took all of this for that to even be considered. Shame on you, shame on you, Mr. Selig, you should resign. Perhaps we can place an asterisk next to your name when we look back on this time in baseball history.

What does all of this mean for baseball, for sports? I don't really know. I'd like to think that as Americans we wake up and demand more from our "heroes." I really hope it wakes us up to examine our own ethics and character and allows us to reexamine the values we pass on to the next generation. I know it does not mean that players who used will be prosecuted now, and I don't think they should. This mess is the making of many, not just the players. From henceforth, though, three strikes and you are forever banned from the game. That's what I'd like to see. It won't happen, though. Now we can sit back and wait for the lawsuits, the name calling, the denials......and maybe one day, one day, we can just play ball and know that it's real.

And the winner is....

Perhaps you've heard that Barry Bonds is poised to hit home run number 755 any minute now, matching Hank Aaron's record, but did you also know that this particular record is the "most hallowed record in all of sports"? I didn't until I was listening to Fox Gametime Saturday on my way home from running errands. That is when I heard the news, that the home run record had been crowned "most hallowed". Since then, in all of the endless chatter about why Bonds should or shouldn't receive credit for the record, I've heard almost every other expert give it this title, as well. Why is that, and will there be an ESPY?

Perhaps I need more to do, but I've just been pondering why this particular record is the most hallowed. Is there a specific set of criteria that makes one record more hallowed than the next? Is most hallowed also the most important? Does it mean it is the most difficult record to break? Would the home run record be receiving that solemn title if everyone's favorite hero, not baseball's favorite villain, were about to break it?

If it is degree of difficulty, then why is Joe Dimaggio's impressive 56 game hit streak record not a contender for the title? The closest anyone has come to breaking that was Pete Rose's 44 hits in 1978. And come on, Ted Williams's .400 season has never been duplicated. Why is the most hallowed title given to a baseball record? It isn't even the most popular sport and is probably losing popularity as I write this.

Football and NASCAR seem to be the juggernauts of popular sports, so why aren't any of their records up for the challenge. It seems that winning the most races of all time is a pretty big accomplishment, and most rushing yards, sacks in a season, touchdowns scored, all impressive records. Let's not leave out our less popular but equally difficult sports. Will anyone else ever match Lance Armstrong's 7 Tour de France titles? It could be the doping scandal cloud hanging over baseball, I mean cycling, that keeps this record from becoming the most hallowed.

It is just food for thought. We tend to jump on the chance to declare one athlete better than another, one sport more difficult than the next, and now our records compete for most or best. Will the home run record continue to hold this honor the closer Alex Rodriguez gets to breaking whatever Bonds's magic number is when he finally retires? Will it some how lose its hallowed-ness the more often it is broken? Before I'm convinced and award it my most hallowed title, I think I'll just put an asterisk beside this one and see if something more impressive comes along.