I’ve never been close to being a professional athlete. On the other hand, I’ve enjoyed many kinds of amateur athletics. Playing ping-pong, tennis, racquetball, football, baseball, golf, volleyball, basketball, softball—to me, each has provided hours of enjoyment—win, lose, or draw.
During all those hours of enjoyment, there have been a few moments where everything went right for a few moments of—I won’t call it glory—because the audience was small and not the point. I would have enjoyed those moments nearly as much if I’d been alone. It was the joy of living, being, moving, seeing, hearing, and having it all work together.
Such moments involve skill combined with dumb luck. In third grade, for instance, I was playing center field when the other team had the bases loaded and no out. A short liner was hit my way and I sprinted toward the sinking ball. Apparently, the runners all thought the ball would drop for a base hit because they all sprinted for the next base. I caught it near my shoes and kept running I stepped on second base to double the runner who had left there and immediately threw my mitt to my left to tag the one arriving at second base from first. Yes! An unassisted triple play.
In college, I got married between my Junior and Senior year and, while I went to school full-time, I had three part time jobs. It just so happened that my intramural softball team was playing near-by my path from job one to job two so I ran by the baseball field. They put me in as a pinch-hitter and I hit a grand slam home run. After crossing the plate, I ran to job two. In this case, there was a lot of luck involved in even having the opportunity to participate in the game, let alone hit a home run.
When I began working at IBM Research, I played pitcher on a city league softball team. At one point, I needed to cover home. A giant hung of a guy barreled into me as he sprinted home from third. He made no attempt to avoid the tag. His plan was clearly to knock the ball from my mitt regardless of what happened to me. He hit me so hard I did a 270 degree twist while executing a back somersault. But—I held onto the ball and he was out. I took no pleasure in the fact that he broke his wrist while I was relatively unscathed other than some bruising and whiplash. Once again, conditioning and skill, along with a fierce determination not to drop the ball combined with dumb luck.
I’ve had similar moments in tennis and golf, frisbee, and football. But my greatest examples of truly astounding athletic prowess comes from my uncanny ability to pick up a pebble with the sole of my right tennis shoe and throw that stone with perfect arc and timing so that it lands in the space that temporarily appears as I stride between my sock and the “collar” of the shoe. In many cases, the pebbles are irregularly shaped and they must be oriented just right to slip into that small and fleeting cavity. Unlike the unassisted triple play or the grand slam home run or my “Hole-in-One,” however, hacky-sacking a stone into my shoe with the other foot is a repeatable experience!
Of course, it is tempting to be annoyed when this happens since it makes walking uncomfortable and even painful. Theoretically, I can stop and untie my shoe, but I’m usually walking an impatient and powerful dog. And, often, on the route I walk, no-one has thoughtfully placed a couch and ottoman along the road so that I can simply remove the stone. But instead of being upset, I choose to marvel at the sheer skill such a shot requires. And even though, it’s commonplace, the skill of my body thrills my soul. But what lasts is beyond even that. It is a celebration of life; to some extent, what it means to be alive as a human, but even more, it’s what it’s like to be alive as life. Life of any form is about being “tuned in” to the environment and organizing your own resources to obtain a goal. And when it all seems to work magically well, it’s an amazing reminder of what life can do when it really tries—and has good luck.
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petersironwood 