Christmas has come and gone, but the one thing that stuck out in my mind is how much excitement it brings. If you spent your holiday in Louisiana you possibly were blessed with a white Christmas. I did not get one in the northern part of Louisiana, but I did get a white-two-days-before Christmas.
My brother is only a year younger than I, and he was home for Christmas from Alabama. (Don’t hate, he only goes there for the baseball scholarship.) Anyway, he is known for getting my hopes up when there is a slight chance of snow. But this time he was not joking.
There we were — a 20-year-old college junior and her 19-year-old brother — jumping up and down in the living room. I was not wearing shoes, so he carried me on his back outside so I could see the snow. I felt 7-years-old again.
Christmas and snow both bring out the kid in you, no matter how old you are. It is the one day out of the year that I wake up early without an alarm or groaning about how early it is. It’s magical and brings happiness to all, if only for that one day. Before you think you passed up the sports section and dove into a Hallmark card, let me assure you this does relate to sports.
Anyway, as I watched my fully-grown family experience Christmas like my 6-year-old cousin, I couldn’t help but wonder — Why is the only sign of ‘kid’ in sports Jason Kidd? Where is the innocent mindset athletes played with when the game was exactly that — a game?
As kids, the days of summer were not spent relaxing after a stressful semester or spending time finding a job. It was a time to gather all the neighborhood children for a game of baseball at the sandlot or a football game at the kid’s house who had the biggest backyard.
There was no option of leaving until the sun went down, and you could not see the ball anymore. Scraped knees and bloody noses were no excuses to run home to your own personal locker room either.
Right before the NFL playoffs, Randy Moss skipped out of the Washington Redskins game early. It was not because it got dark, but because he did not care.
The ‘kid’ under that afro would have reacted differently. Instead of bringing out the child who screams for attention, he needs to resurface the kid who plays for the love of his sport.
This thought crept up on me again as I watched Peyton Manning break the single season touchdown pass record. It was a different way of celebrating compared to Barry Bonds, who I remind you did not break a record, only took over the third place position for career homeruns.
Manning did not wait for the fireworks. He did not wait for Dan Marino to present him with a brass flame in a way to signify “passing along the torch.” He kept his focus and aimed at winning the game — which he did and earned a playoff berth. I don’t recall the Giants making the playoffs this year.
Manning is not a kid by any means — in fact he is a beast — but he carries along the traits possessed pre-fame and fortune. It’s not because he has been in the spotlight since he was an actual kid when his dad Archie was starting for the New Orleans Saints, but because he maintains the one thing kids everywhere have in common — passion for playing.
These children look up to athletes. There are only a handful of players who focus on the game instead of their image, and with that number quickly diminishing, what does that say about future athletes?
As I pass the street games put together at the last second by several young kids decked out in their favorite player’s jersey they received from Santa, I hold my breath hoping to catch a glimpse of blue for Manning or green for Donovan McNabb — never Terrell Owens. And the only purple and gold allowed is that of the LSU Tigers; no Vikings allowed, Randy Moss.
Side note: Don’t fret, Q & A will return next Thursday.