I suppose for the most part we could call this an oxymoron. A painful one. I find the arena of the athlete, no matter the country more and more difficult to watch. I find myself lost in cynicism. I can remember my father's final days still being able to lie in the bed and enjoy a good baseball game. I didn't get it. But what I know now is that those games were being played out in a different part of his mind and his body. There was actually a process of displacement. Every throw of the ball and every crack of the bat triggered a memory that displaced the one on the screen and replaced it with a young, long lean athlete. One, who took to the fields at another time in this country where segregation was the rule of law; and yet they played THEIR game. And one that gathered them and their families together to follow the sun to countries of Latin America to play winter ball and be hailed as heroes.
But I don't want to dwell on the seedy side of sport. I want to elevate the heroes. Those that allow us to speak of the nobility of the athlete and the contribution that he/she has made on and off the field. Those who make my heart jump and bring me to my feet. Those who have grabbed their moment in time, at great sacrifice, expose the harsh lines that separate us as human beings, and forced us to have to bend our perception of reality, wrestle it to the ground and force it to succumb to truth. These are the ones that kept me up last night.
Listen to a few words from Dr. Harry Edwards, then click on the links below to check out some videos.
There was John Carlos and Tommie Smith...
And there was also... Peter Norman.
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