When we grow up, we all want to think they’re superhuman.
We want to believe they can do no wrong, that when they step on the field they’ll do it with grace and dignity.
We want to think when they step off the court, they’re going to be model citizens. We want to believe they’ll act in good behavior.
Then somewhere along the way, probably in between middle school and high school, reality begins to hit. Those articles our parents used to hide from us suddenly start to appear. When we watch ESPN’s SportsCenter, our parents don’t suddenly turn the channel anymore.
That’s when innocence was lost. I know it was for me.
When innocence is lost, you start thinking they’re no more than money-munching machines. The errors turn into curses, losses into full-blown tirades. They’re not your heroes anymore, just statistical entities that can help win or lose fantasy leagues.
You care no more about the 108 stitches on a baseball. It doesn’t matter that the puck isn’t just made out of rubber; it’s vulcanized rubber. That basketball doesn’t have the same bounce anymore. The football just can’t be thrown in a tight spiral.
It’s just not going to happen.
Along the way, this all happened to us. It’s a shame, a crying shame.
It is reality.
There’s a way to get around it, a way to find the foundation of love that we all once had in our lives.
It’s simple. It’s easier than one might think.
Want to know? The answer won’t cost you.
Allow yourself to be amazed. Go to a game, sit in the stands, order two — no three — hot dogs. Grab a soda, grab a beer. Spend too much money on a giant foam hand.
Go to batting practice. Watch as the players run out from the tunnel. Go
early and see the shoot around. Better yet, stand behind the glass and flinch as each puck flies toward you during warmups. Know it won’t hit you, but pretend. Practice those reflexes, stay limber.
Just remember what it was like when you were young, when your innocence was more than a forgotten memory.
I know when that exact moment struck me.
As much as Barry Bonds has had a cloud fly over him for the start of the 2004 season, seeing him hit No. 660 for his career was cathartic. He did something that only three other players in history had ever done. That dates back to 1876 when the National League was officially formed.
That’s more than 125 years. Think about it. Digest it.
Can you really tell me now that steroids are too much of an issue for you to stand in amazement at what he did? Is it possible to let that scandal sit in your head long enough to keep from enjoying what may be the most significant record in our lifetime?
I hope not.
I was never a huge Bonds fan, not until recently. I had heard the stories about him being rude, selfish and just generally a bad person.
It drove me away from liking the man, even though I grew up a San Francisco Giants fan.
Then I realized it all didn’t matter. It came back to me. I remembered what it was like to sit in the stands and watch batting practice as baseballs flew more than 400 feet toward the center field seats.
I remembered my days at Candlestick Park, how I swore I would never call it 3Com Park.
Those were the days when baseball was baseball. And when football players went to the trenches and the beauty of a spiral thrown by John Elway, Dan Marino and Joe Montana was a thing of beauty rivaled by no other.
I remembered all those things last week as I watched Willie Mays embrace Bonds. Everything came back to me.
The good old days.
And how they can come alive again.