I was listening to the local sports radio station on my way to work a couple days ago, and the two dudes were discussing who would be remembered as The Greatest Athletes of All Time. Several names were mentioned, and generally speaking, I agreed with all of them. Which I'm sure was very important to the two of them, because who doesn't value my opinion? Anyway, they talked about the legacies of Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, Johnny Unitas, Carl Lewis, blah blah blah. And while I didn't necessarily think all of them would show up on The Sparkles Plenty Best Athletes EVER! list, I believe a compelling argument can be made for each of those people. But when I heard the name Dale Earnhardt, I got all twitchy and lightheaded and nearly ran off the road. Dale Earnhardt? One of the greatest athletes of all time? Oh, HELL no.
Now don't get me wrong, because I certainly don't want to take anything away from what that gentleman accomplished before his untimely death. He was at the top of his profession for years and, if bumperstickers are to be believed, had a buttload of fans all over the place. Was he skilled? Without a doubt. Talented? Definitely. Courageous? I'd say so. A great sportsman? I'll spot you that one. But a great athlete? Come on. Sitting behind the wheel of a car doing laps really fast doesn't make you an athlete. It makes you a good steerer.
And then, to add insult to injury, when one of the sports radio dudes mentioned Secretariat, the other (Mike Golic, who I generally don't have a problem with, but on this particular day I found him to be a gigantic tool) had a reaction very similar to the one I had over Dale Earnhardt. He didn't consider Secretariat an athlete because he was a horse. (Secretariat was a horse, not Mike Golic. Although maybe it works the other way, too. Who can say?)
Disclaimer #1: I love me some ponies. When I was younger, we went to the racetrack with what many would consider alarming regularity. It was alarming because I was no older than nine. You don't see too many toddlers and young children at the racetrack, but considering how stupendously well I turned out, maybe you should. Anyway, my parents would place the occasional bet, but our going to the track was much more about enjoying the experience than scoring some extra cash. So because a I spent a big chunk of my formative years at Hollywood Park and Santa Anita, I grew up to be a rabid fan of horseracing. I still can't handicap worth a damn, but there is nothing that gets my blood pumping like watching thoroughbred racing. I will watch anything on television that is related to racehorses, no matter how tangentially. The "biography" of Seabiscuit on A&E? Seen it. Four times. I can recite the call of the 1973 Belmont Stakes ("Secretariat is widening now! He is moving like a tremendous machine!"). You could not keep me away from the television on the first Saturday in May if you strapped dynamite to my ass.
Disclaimer #2: I loathe NASCAR. To me it's nothing more than souped-up El Caminos or Monte Carlos or whatever the hell, driving in circles over and over and over again. I understand that there's much more to it than that, because if it involved just doing loops in a Buick any old yahoo would be out there making millions of dollars, and this particular yahoo would be leading the parade. So I know that there's so much more to NASCAR than I know or understand, but that doesn't make me hate it any less. Maybe it comes from not being from the south. Maybe it's like iced tea. You've got to be born here to appreciate it.
Several years ago a friend of mine said, "Horseracing is just NASCAR for rich people." I couldn't have been more horrified if he'd said that he enjoyed kicking puppies in his spare time. But I do understand why people don't find horseracing as utterly fantastic as I do. I understand the point that Mike Golic was making about Secretariat not being a great athlete because he was just a damn horse. I understand these things, but I don't agree.
I have a ridiculous tendency to personify animals. And I do it with all animals, not just the higher-functioning varieties. I see birds and wonder what they're thinking about. I have to stop and tell myself it's a bird for chrissake, and it probably spends most of its days struggling to tell the difference between twigs and worms. I do the same thing with dogs, cows, squirrels, and horses. That's probably why I don't draw a huge line between human athletes and racehorses. And maybe I should, but there are times that I wonder how far apart the two species are.
In any given horserace, the overwhelming majority of the racers are running simply because it's what they've been bred to do. They get led to the gate by the nose, they take off when the gates open, and then they run hell-bent for leather because some tiny bastard on their back is whipping their hind leg. If they lose, they're all, "Finally! Back to the stable to take a load off and eat my oatey flakes." But every once in a while you might get the privilege of seeing a horse run a race not just because it's all they know, but because they love it and by God they want to win. You'll know who these horses are because they just appear different than the others. They reach farther, stretch longer, or somehow just look more determined. Their gait changes when they see another horse come up beside them. They put their head down and prick their ears and keep going, even though you can tell they have nothing left other than sheer stamina and the desire to be the best. No one is going to beat them because they simply will not allow it to happen. Maybe they aren't human and they can't drive cars, but if that's not a true athlete, then what is?
So on Saturday a group of us will get together to watch The Most Exciting Two Minutes in Sports. (I will be making mint juleps. I will not partake in said juleps, because the last time I did I capped off the Kentucky Derby festivities by spraying the contents of my stomach all over my friend's sister's concrete driveway.) When the horses are loaded into the gate, I'll search to find the one that has The Look in its eyes. I will get all goosebumpy when the gates open and I hear the deep rumble of their hooves on the dirt. But best of all, I will see my horse-racing-is-NASCAR-for-rich-people friend jumping, flailing, and cheering his horse on just as stupidly and obnoxiously as I will be. And that's when I'll know that my work here is done.
Oh, and Mike Golic? You're next, buddy.
Now don't get me wrong, because I certainly don't want to take anything away from what that gentleman accomplished before his untimely death. He was at the top of his profession for years and, if bumperstickers are to be believed, had a buttload of fans all over the place. Was he skilled? Without a doubt. Talented? Definitely. Courageous? I'd say so. A great sportsman? I'll spot you that one. But a great athlete? Come on. Sitting behind the wheel of a car doing laps really fast doesn't make you an athlete. It makes you a good steerer.
And then, to add insult to injury, when one of the sports radio dudes mentioned Secretariat, the other (Mike Golic, who I generally don't have a problem with, but on this particular day I found him to be a gigantic tool) had a reaction very similar to the one I had over Dale Earnhardt. He didn't consider Secretariat an athlete because he was a horse. (Secretariat was a horse, not Mike Golic. Although maybe it works the other way, too. Who can say?)
Disclaimer #1: I love me some ponies. When I was younger, we went to the racetrack with what many would consider alarming regularity. It was alarming because I was no older than nine. You don't see too many toddlers and young children at the racetrack, but considering how stupendously well I turned out, maybe you should. Anyway, my parents would place the occasional bet, but our going to the track was much more about enjoying the experience than scoring some extra cash. So because a I spent a big chunk of my formative years at Hollywood Park and Santa Anita, I grew up to be a rabid fan of horseracing. I still can't handicap worth a damn, but there is nothing that gets my blood pumping like watching thoroughbred racing. I will watch anything on television that is related to racehorses, no matter how tangentially. The "biography" of Seabiscuit on A&E? Seen it. Four times. I can recite the call of the 1973 Belmont Stakes ("Secretariat is widening now! He is moving like a tremendous machine!"). You could not keep me away from the television on the first Saturday in May if you strapped dynamite to my ass.
Disclaimer #2: I loathe NASCAR. To me it's nothing more than souped-up El Caminos or Monte Carlos or whatever the hell, driving in circles over and over and over again. I understand that there's much more to it than that, because if it involved just doing loops in a Buick any old yahoo would be out there making millions of dollars, and this particular yahoo would be leading the parade. So I know that there's so much more to NASCAR than I know or understand, but that doesn't make me hate it any less. Maybe it comes from not being from the south. Maybe it's like iced tea. You've got to be born here to appreciate it.
Several years ago a friend of mine said, "Horseracing is just NASCAR for rich people." I couldn't have been more horrified if he'd said that he enjoyed kicking puppies in his spare time. But I do understand why people don't find horseracing as utterly fantastic as I do. I understand the point that Mike Golic was making about Secretariat not being a great athlete because he was just a damn horse. I understand these things, but I don't agree.
I have a ridiculous tendency to personify animals. And I do it with all animals, not just the higher-functioning varieties. I see birds and wonder what they're thinking about. I have to stop and tell myself it's a bird for chrissake, and it probably spends most of its days struggling to tell the difference between twigs and worms. I do the same thing with dogs, cows, squirrels, and horses. That's probably why I don't draw a huge line between human athletes and racehorses. And maybe I should, but there are times that I wonder how far apart the two species are.
In any given horserace, the overwhelming majority of the racers are running simply because it's what they've been bred to do. They get led to the gate by the nose, they take off when the gates open, and then they run hell-bent for leather because some tiny bastard on their back is whipping their hind leg. If they lose, they're all, "Finally! Back to the stable to take a load off and eat my oatey flakes." But every once in a while you might get the privilege of seeing a horse run a race not just because it's all they know, but because they love it and by God they want to win. You'll know who these horses are because they just appear different than the others. They reach farther, stretch longer, or somehow just look more determined. Their gait changes when they see another horse come up beside them. They put their head down and prick their ears and keep going, even though you can tell they have nothing left other than sheer stamina and the desire to be the best. No one is going to beat them because they simply will not allow it to happen. Maybe they aren't human and they can't drive cars, but if that's not a true athlete, then what is?
So on Saturday a group of us will get together to watch The Most Exciting Two Minutes in Sports. (I will be making mint juleps. I will not partake in said juleps, because the last time I did I capped off the Kentucky Derby festivities by spraying the contents of my stomach all over my friend's sister's concrete driveway.) When the horses are loaded into the gate, I'll search to find the one that has The Look in its eyes. I will get all goosebumpy when the gates open and I hear the deep rumble of their hooves on the dirt. But best of all, I will see my horse-racing-is-NASCAR-for-rich-people friend jumping, flailing, and cheering his horse on just as stupidly and obnoxiously as I will be. And that's when I'll know that my work here is done.
Oh, and Mike Golic? You're next, buddy.
2 Comments:
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