Rememberance of Things Past

Terry Tempest Williams once wrote an essay entitled, "Why I Write." Due to the stringent copyright laws of this country, I won't transpose the whole piece, but here are a couple reasons she gave for writing. (As an aside I would direct anyone who is interested in writing creatively to not only read this, but to try and answer the question yourself):

I write to begin a dialogue.

I write because it makes me less fearful of death.

I write to forget.

I write because then I do not have to speak.

I write for the love of it.

I wanted to figure out what the point of writing this 'blog' is. I think it comes down to wanting to understand sports in America and speciifcally our fascination with professional and collegiate sports.



There has to be a purpose right? The time and energy we invest in watching, following, playing sports has to be more than just escape. Or does it? I have to say that on occassion I've gritted my teeth when reading Bill Simmons, but recently he's been very insightful. Anyway, he was talking about this recent NBA scandal (more to come), and he said something:

"If you're a diehard Suns fan, this now becomes the toughest playoff loss in NBA history. You have a legitimate case that you were screwed."

That's interesting pronoun use isn't it? "you were screwed." No you weren't. A team that you follow lost. But you didn't lose, a group of 12 men who have possibly never met you before lost, and they probably retired that night disappointed, shook it off, and prayed that the sun would shine tomorrow so that they could be redeemed. But you. You did nothing but watch and become emotionally invovled. Who are you? Who are we? Why do we care when we have nothing to gain and everything to lose? Trust me, you can only be disappointed when following sports. There is never a championship moment. Your team may win, but when the alcohol is wiped away and the confetti picked up, there's a moment you realize you didn't accomplish anything. But we watch and we follow and we become disappointed and feel let down by people we haven't met, or never will meet. So we find outlets for this disappointment. We play softball, or soccer, or talk about old high school football games. We need to feel connected, we need to feel like we could if God hadn't cursed us with these poor genetics.

So, after this disgression, here's my abbreviated answer to Why I write:

I write to understand

I write so there is a place for the thoughts that inundate my mind most nights before I go to sleep.

I write to drown out other people who say things like "'Nuff said," or "I didn't get the memo."

I write because I have something to say, even though on occasion I don't necessarily say it well.