Men and Sports

What is it with boys and sports? It could be a pick-up basketball game or game 7 of the World Series, we’d treat each with the same intensity. When men watch sports, we often offer our criticism as if the coaches have a direct line to our couches. Fandom takes on a new element in fantasy sports, where we manage a team of pro athletes (yes we know they don’t actually play for us). Why do men dedicate so much time and energy to an entity that is almost entirely out of our control?

Here I will insert a necessary disclaimer: some women love sports too, and God bless you all for it. Consider yourselves a part of our brotherhood of fans, someone has to wear the pink hats after all.

Just about every young boy plays sports. It’s a part of our culture. It teaches teamwork and the value of friendship. It also allows them to run around screaming and kicking or hitting things for a few hours, a necessary release for kids as well as parents. As kids grow up, sports are a huge part of the social circles in middle and high school. Everyone attends the games and those who perform well are popular. This isn’t the sole motivating factor by any means, but it helps.

Let’s take a stroll backward in time, oh how about a million years? Back to the times of the hunter-gatherer. Men were relied upon to provide food and sustenance for themselves and their family units. Moving forward on the timeline, Native Americans hunted in groups with more advanced tools. The best hunter was the alpha male. Flash forward to a couple hundred years ago and men no longer had to rely on their own two hands for food, so they invented games where their intrinsic competitive nature could be satisfied.

Sports in our culture are a way to allow our innate competitive nature to surface. They involve physical strength as well as mental capacity. I think this is why men take sports so seriously, they closely mirror our ancestors’ fight for survival. Our instincts kick in. Just ask my college roommate Dave, one of the only serious fights we ever had was over a pick-up basketball game. We laugh about it now, but it just shows how much passion we pour into our athletic endeavors. They are important to us.         

Now, I will admit that professional sports are entertainment. Athletes are not heroes when they’re on the field, they are performers. They make way too much money and receive way too much attention. I know these things on a practical level. Still, I watch hours of sports a week (much to the chagrin of my girlfriend), juggle several fantasy sports teams, and spend money on tickets and merchandise. Why? That competitive nature surfaces again. It satisfies a thirst for contest. Dave and I often banter back and forth about our competing fantasy baseball teams (we haven’t fought over it yet though).

So, to answer the opening question, boys love sports. They allow us to engage in (usually) friendly competition and utilize our physical as well as mental capabilities. They’re entertainment sure, but so much more engaging than sitting on the couch or in a movie theater. Ladies, I know our fascination with sports may seem ridiculous but that’s how we feel about the Kardashians or Cosmo quizzes.

Well, I’ve got a big day ahead of me. Have to set my fantasy lineup for the day, read some of the Terry Francona book sitting next to me (thanks mom) and then spend the afternoon basking in the sports temple that is Fenway Park. Go Sox.       

A Day We'll Never Forget

It was the most terrifying period of time in my life. Fifteen to twenty minutes of complete unknown. What had happened? How many were hurt? Was there more to come? One thing felt certain. My safety was at risk, possibly gone. With that realization I put my life in God’s hands and waited.

About twenty minutes prior, I had received a call from an employee. He was in the lobby of the Prudential building in Boston, our place of work. He had been told that no one was being allowed into the building and that he should evacuate. Unaware of any danger, I waited for an alarm to signal a fire emergency or a drill of some kind. Seconds later another employee called to ask if I had heard the bangs or felt the building shake. I hadn’t. He had.

I called building security and they informed me that they didn’t have any information and that I should wait to hear from police. Strange, I thought. I made my way over to the Boylston Street side of the building to check on the second employee. He pointed out to me, from the 9th floor window, where he had seen plumes of smoke emerge from the street level shortly after the booms. As it clicked that he was pointing at a heavily populated area near the finish line of the Boston Marathon, my heart sank. I immediately knew what had happened. I knew how many people were down there. I had been in that area to take in the festivities at about 1pm, less than two hours before.

With a knot in my stomach and a quickened heart rate, I went back to my computer and began to check news outlets, hoping that I wouldn’t find the terrible news I anticipated. There wasn’t any information right away, but searching the radio dial confirmed my fears. Two explosions.

A gruff voice came over the loudspeaker, “The Boston Police are advising that building occupants shelter in place as a result of criminal activity taking place on Boylston Street.” Bombs. My heart rate spiked, my stomach dropped. I quietly said a prayer and braced for whatever was next. I tried to occupy myself by continuing my daily routine but I couldn’t concentrate.

Someone nervously entered to ask if I had heard from my third employee. My heart dropped again. I had let her leave around 2pm to cheer on her daughter-in-law who was running in the marathon. I called her phone and received no answer. I sent her a text message asking to let us know that she was okay. No response.

The next hour was a whirl of phone calls and texts from people looking for information and confirmation of the safety of my staff and I. The voice over the loudspeaker would periodically repeat the same general message as before. No new information from him. Plenty from the radio. Plenty from the internet. None from the missing employee.

It’s tough to describe the pit that sits in your stomach in a time like this. Only on 9/11 have I felt anything close, but even then I was safely hundreds of miles away. On Monday, I was mere yards away (and up). Obviously it pales in comparison to those who were down on the street level of Boylston and those that were in the Twin Towers. Still, I have never truly feared as I did on Monday.

Good news finally came as we heard that our co-worker had posted on Facebook that she and her family were safe. Exactly three hours after the bombs erupted we were finally told we had been given the okay to vacate the building (utilizing a non-Boylston street exit). The radio news coverage had been reporting that public transportation was being amended and that certain streets were shut down. Speculation swirled in those hours and we were all obviously concerned that there could be more to come out there on the streets of Boston. The next trash can to explode could be the one on the way home.

As I walked out of the building, taking back streets and winding my way toward the closest operating T stop I observed the somber scene of the city. People were clearly rattled and looking for answers, but mostly looking for safety and the comfort of family. I made my way past the intersection of Mass Ave and Boylston Street, a route I normally take to work. Boylston Street had been cordoned off with police tape. Law enforcement officials of all kinds were standing ready.

I walked with a brisk pace away from the scene and headed towards Kenmore Station where I would normally catch a bus back home. Not thinking about anything but getting home safely, I turned left onto Commonwealth Avenue. The second to last turn of the marathon course. My phone buzzed and I looked down at the words of my girlfriend, “Just stay off of the marathon course, there could be more explosives.” “Definitely,” I assured her, not wanting to cause her any more worry (sorry Laura).

My pace further quickened and I couldn’t help but stare at every trash can and post office box that I passed. I was literally bracing for an explosion. Every major gathering point that I passed had a mass of uniformed officers patrolling. The entire walk people were wandering about, some clearly rattled and confused. Some clearly intoxicated from the earlier Patriot’s Day activities (for those of you not familiar with this Massachusetts holiday, the only morning game in baseball is played at Fenway Park and many people enjoy the day consuming copious amounts of beer). I couldn’t quite get a grip on whether these people were unafraid of the attacks, oblivious, or were just having a difficult time getting home.

When I did finally catch a train, walk the mile and a half from the closest open stop to my apartment, I took a deep breath and finally felt some semblance of safety. The news coverage was surreal. I walk those stretches of road so often. This actually happened and it happened where I live and work. I learned from the video footage and photographs on the TV screen that I had been standing right across from the sight of the second bombing only an hour and 50 minutes before the explosion shook that very ground.

I had never truly felt unsafe in the city of Boston. Never felt that fear was an emotion that could take over at any moment. I imagine that neither did any of those spectators and runners who were in danger. This account is not meant as a plea for an end to the evils that seem to be surfacing more and more frequently in our society. Not meant as a statement of concern over the level of safety in Boston. Evil exists and always has. I just mean to share my experience. I was scared, however I do not remain so. We as a people can’t afford to hold on to that fear or evil will prevail.

I have a new appreciation for my adopted home city, a new sense of pride in my fellow Bostonians. Pray for the victims and their families. For the recovery of those injured, both physically and mentally.

As the President said this morning, “If they sought to intimidate us, to terrorize us, it should be pretty clear by now that they picked the wrong city to do it. Not here in Boston.”