Sports, amirite?
And looking in the mirror when things don't go your way
Writing forces you to face yourself on the page. It’s not all bad—oftentimes it’s not—but depending on the story you want to tell it calls for you to be honest with yourself first and think about how the story affects the others you write about. My version of being honest with oneself and others I always describe as “looking in the mirror.” I feel like I started saying it this summer and it stuck. Let’s talk about what I mean and the scenarios that shaped my strong feelings about it.
Besides being a diehard Saints fan and a playoffs/finals voyeur, I used to be very *insert viral meme of famous person cheering at a match* when it came to sports. I’d be in it for the thrill, cheering when other people cheer and catching a vibe. Over the past few years that changed. I channeled my inner athlete and joined a kickball league. This summer marked my third year in the league. It’s been a big part of my last three summers. And you know I had to like it if I was taking an hour long train to Brooklyn multiple times a week for it. Kickball gave me community in all forms. We practiced, we celebrated birthdays, we had dinners, we went to our teammates’ DJ sets and parties, and this was all reflected on the field when we competed against other teams. Year one we made it to the championship game but lost. I can’t remember where I was but I know I was traveling and it was a trip that was planned before I got the schedule for the season. That year, kickball had to fit in between what was already cemented. Last year, I was all in. When I got the schedule I added everything to my calendar and anything else would have to work around it. I prioritized practice and the games, even though I spent weeks at a time galavanting across the globe. Somehow the schedule worked in my favor. We made it the championship again, and this time we won. We were undefeated. (If you don’t hate Drake, cue “Trophies.”)
This year there was a shift. Mind you, the kickball league is full of adults, mostly millennials, maybe a few Gen-Z folks, but I say that to say, people have full lives outside of the league. Once you factor in work, children, significant others, etc. this child’s game can add a strain to the calendar, and in some cases relationships. This summer I spent most* of my time in New York. I was living in my Harlem bubble so when kickball started, I dreaded the train ride to practice. I’d leave home at 5PM knowing I wouldn’t be back until 9PM at the earliest, more likely 10PM. We had a decent turnout at most practices, but attendees were ever changing. Our superpower was that we always played our game, not the game the opponent wanted us to play. We cheered each other on, and we tried to continue following our motto of “we play how we practice.”
NWTS (dang, Drake really top of mind today) after one of our games ended in a tie. There were miscommunications, varying info implemented vs. what was in the rule book, and the best way to put it is, bad vibes. I didn’t like it then, and frankly thinking back to it, I don’t like it now. This is when I realized my perfect team when not on top, had an issue with “looking in the mirror.” That would follow us to the championship, which we made it to for the third year consecutively. An undefeated team—count the tie as you wish—lost sorely to what some would call our rivals, not scoring even once. Ouch. Vibes were off. We became who we said everyone else was. I believe the team was more than prepared, but there was more of a focus on winning, than being the family of misfits that came together three years prior. Add egos, nerves, and no one following the strategies we had discussed, and a loss is what we got in return. It was a somber end to a great run. We toasted with tequila, and moved on. There was no discussion of what went right or wrong, just a game of literally getting our asses beat swept under the rug. Again, no one wanted to look in the mirror. Weeks later, months later, they still haven’t. Or maybe they did in private. I was dumbfounded by the lack of accountability. But I went with it. “Cheers!” In a setting like this—I do not consider myself a main character on the team—I wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. It amazed me that the loudest in the room (or on the team in this case) was now the quietest. And we have a team of personalities who have never been afraid to speak their minds.
It’s okay to have bad days, bad games, and bad seasons. It happens. What can’t happen (or what I take an issue with) is never discussing the bad days, games, and seasons. No, we can’t change the past, but we can acknowledge a bad moment happened and we’re here now. We can admit everyone wasn’t perfect. We can admit egos got in the way. We can admit some people decided there was indeed an “I” in team. Or maybe we can’t.
I was reminded of this last night as I was watching the Yankees in the World Series. I was fired up when I got home. The Yankees were up by five in the third inning, the Dodgers sitting at zero. In the fifth inning everything changed. Defense was too lax making mistakes that essentially cost them the game because the Dodgers caught up to them in those 17-18 minutes. I cared a bit more about the Yankees this year because it felt like New York was on top. We were this close to a Mets vs. Yankees World Series, the Liberty just won, and the Knicks season was beginning. (I’m ignoring football on purpose lol.) I understand baseball a lot more now because of my experience playing kickball. I was locked tf in. The innings that followed the Yankees just couldn’t pick the momentum back up. I sat in the recliner with my Yankees World Series hat plopped atop my curls screaming at the television hoping they’d play smarter and remember why they came. It wasn’t enough. Yankees went out soft, and the Dodgers had a very quiet celebration at Yankee Stadium. Like we realllllly should’ve gone to game six AT LEAST in LA. Although I was sad for them, I had to admit—like everyone else should—that the Yankees didn’t play a great game. Especially compared to the night before that advanced the team to game five. The Dodgers played a better game. They caught the balls that mattered, they had aggressive base runners, and they kept their heads in the game. I’m not saying they’re a better team, I’m saying in that moment, they played better than the Yankees did and capitalized on the Yankees’ mistakes. If the Yankees look in the mirror (or the playback footage), they’ll have to admit that to themselves too.
Violet doesn’t have any sports moment right now but this reflection made me think about adding one. I personally had my hand at tennis, basketball, shot put, and bowling in my adolescence. Maybe one of these will make their way into her story. Today’s excerpt is still from the beginning in NOLA. Enjoy!
Two days later she dropped off her application, this time before her ballet class. She checked everything twice. She had her permit stating that at 15-years-old she could enter the workforce. The manager at the time was a snazzy Black woman, Ms. Dee. Her hair and skin matched, both auburn. When Violet gave her the application at the customer service counter, she smiled in return. In one week Ms. Dee called Violet to tell her she got the job. Independence was on the horizon. And independence for Violet meant funds to keep her outfits on point. The next week, Violet started.
Luckily, Violet’s school uniform doubled as her work uniform. She only added a blue apron that had Lakeview Fine Foods embroidered across the chest in white thread. She kept a Sharpie in one of the pockets and her cell phone in the other. Eager to do well, Violet quickly memorized most of the fruit and veggie codes, studying them at home in her free time. She found joy in being an expert bagger, making sure only bread or chips went on top of eggs, poultry was in its own bag, and boxed and canned goods were stacked in a way that made the best use of their limited space. Balancing her till at the end of her shift and counting the bills was what she enjoyed most. Violet finally felt like she had some responsibility. And this job, no matter how small it seemed to others, was hers.
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No inspo this week! I’ve been listening to the same albums (I need to see Samara Joy and Leon Bridges next year) and watching primetime television and sports with my mom. Nothing has really come to mind that’s worth sharing. I bet as soon as I press publish I’ll think of something. I challenged myself to get more posts out this month, and today marks the goal being completed. I’ve been writing every week, splitting my time between the book draft, musings, and ideas for Substack. It’s still a challenge, but I can confidently say I’m doing it. Thanks for encouraging me to stay at it. See ya next month!