While reading a book called "The Life of Reilly", which was
written by Sport's Illustrated's Rick Reilly, I came
across a story that sort of answered a question I've often
asked myself from time to time...
Why are we here?
I think Rick does a pretty good job of explaining some of
the answers to this question.
I really enjoy his writing style.
Anyhow, here it is.
I'm glad SI had a copy of it on their website.
It saved me a whole lotta typing because I really wanted to
share it with you folks.
=================
Funny You Should Ask
Posted: Tuesday April 13, 1999 10:13 AM
So we were lying on our backs on the grass in the park next
to our hamburger wrappers, my 14-year-old son and I,
watching the clouds loiter overhead, when he asked
me, "Dad, why are we here?"
And this is what I said.
"I've thought a lot about it, son, and I don't think it's
all that complicated. I think maybe we're here just to
teach a kid how to bunt, turn two and eat sunflower seeds
without using his hands.
"We're here to pound the steering wheel and scream as we
listen to the game on the radio, 20 minutes after we pulled
into the garage. We're here to look all over, give up and
then find the ball in the hole.
"We're here to watch, at least once, as the pocket
collapses around John Elway, and it's fourth-and-never. Or
as the count goes to 3 and 1 on Mark McGwire with bases
loaded, and the pitcher begins wishing he'd gone on to med
school. Or as a little hole you couldn't get a skateboard
through suddenly opens in front of Jeff Gordon with a lap
to go.
"We're here to wear our favorite sweat-soaked Boston Red
Sox cap, torn Slippery Rock sweatshirt and the Converses we
lettered in, on a Saturday morning with nowhere we have to
go and no one special we have to be.
"We're here to rake on a jack-high nothin' hand and have
nobody know it but us. Or get in at least one really good
brawl, get a nice shiner and end up throwing an arm around
the guy who gave it to us.
"We're here to shoot a six-point elk and finally get the
f-stop right, or to tie the perfect fly, make the perfect
cast, catch absolutely nothing and still call it a perfect
morning.
"We're here to nail a yield sign with an apple core from
half a block away. We're here to make our dog bite on the
same lame fake throw for the gazillionth time. We're here
to win the stuffed bear or go broke trying.
"I don't think the meaning of life is gnashing our
bicuspids over what comes after death but tasting all the
tiny moments that come before it. We're here to be the
coach when Wendell, the one whose glasses always fog up,
finally makes the only perfect backdoor pass all season.
We're here to be there when our kid has three goals and an
assist. And especially when he doesn't.
"We're here to see the Great One setting up behind the net,
tying some poor goaltender's neck into a Windsor knot.
We're here to watch the Rocket peer in for the sign, two
out, bases loaded, bottom of the career. We're here to
witness Tiger's lining up the 22-foot double breaker to win
and not need his autograph afterward to prove it.
"We're here to be able to do a one-and-a-half for our
grandkids. Or to stand at the top of our favorite double-
black on a double-blue morning and overhear those five
wonderful words: 'Highway's closed. Too much snow.' We're
here to get the Frisbee to do things that would have caused
medieval clergymen to burn us at the stake.
"We're here to sprint the last 100 yards and soak our
shirts and be so tired we have to sit down to pee.
"I don't think we're here to make SportsCenter. The really
good stuff never does. Like leaving Wrigley at 4:15 on a
perfect summer afternoon and walking straight into Murphy's
with half of section 503. Or finding ourselves with a free
afternoon, a little red 327 fuel-injected 1962 Corvette
convertible and an unopened map of Vermont's backroads.
"We're here to get the triple-Dagwood sandwich made, the
perfectly frosted malted-beverage mug filled and the
football kicked off at the very second your sister begins
tying up the phone until Tuesday.
"None of us are going to find ourselves on our deathbeds
saying, 'Dang, I wish I'd spent more time on the Hibbings
account.' We're going to say, 'That scar? I got that scar
stealing a home run from Consolidated Plumbers!'
"See, grown-ups spend so much time doggedly slaving toward
the better car, the perfect house, the big day that will
finally make them happy when happy just walked by wearing a
bicycle helmet two sizes too big for him. We're not here to
find a way to heaven. The way is heaven. Does that answer
your question, son?"
And he said, "Not really, Dad."
And I said, "No?"
And he said, "No, what I meant is, why are we here when Mom
said to pick her up 40 minutes ago?
============
:o)
Issue date: April 12, 1999
Link to article:
sportsillustrated.cnn.com
Link to the Rick Reilly Archive:
sportsillustrated.cnn.com
-ReillysFan |
