A Fat Person, On Watching Sports
Over the last couple of weeks, for the first time since I was a kid, I’ve been going to sporting events. Nothing too fancy or highbrow, young teens playing soccer and basketball.
Now, I’ve never been an athletic person. Never, never, never. Not even when I had the varsity football coach asking me to consider it during my freshman and sophomore year of high schools. Never. I did do Little League as a kid; I have vague memories of that, but I don’t recall being very good at it, or enjoying it very much.
Just as I’m not an athlete, I’ve never really been a fan of professional sports. It seems to me that this is the kind of thing that gets passed down in families, loyalty to the same team and all that jazz. My family’s never done that. Interesting that so many people consider sports a thing that red-blooded American men should be into, but it’s totally bypassed my immediate family, at least as far as I know.
With all that in mind, I’ve been rather surprised at how much I’m enjoying the games.
Now, I have to admit that I don’t know too much about the rules of these games; the flag dancing from the soccer refs on the sidelines, or the sedate dance moves from the basketball refs. So I’m a little hesitant to cheer when I see something that I think looks good. But there’s a little bit of human instinct to this. Ball in our basket equals good. Ball in their basket equals bad. Ball in their net equals good . . . and so on.
But the thing that’s interested me most about watching sports is watching how the players aren’t afraid to get up in each other’s space. How they’re not afraid to go for the hard fall or do what it takes to get the ball, even if it means an elbow or a cleat in their face.
This seems so counter-intuitive to me.
I have always been a fairly large person, and part of that has been learning to keep my drooping sagginess away from where it might touch or inconvenience other people. It means keeping a very definite sphere of no man’s land around my body at all times, especially in public contexts.
I guess that this has become so ingrained in my head that it surprises me that other people, but especially these athletes, don’t have that hangup. Where my every physical interaction is done with the goal of not inconveniencing other people, of making my fatness as unobtrusive as possible. Their interactions, at least on the field, center around the goal of getting the ball, making the goal, winning the game. Whoever they have to touch, elbow, kick, so be it.
But even off the field, it’s strange to see people who are so comfortable being in each other’s space: holding hands, cuddling together, hugging, touching, interacting with other people. It seems like a strange and foreign thing.
Normal is the word you’re looking for, Zach. They’re definitely . . . normal.
But even more than the waiving of the personal space bubble, is the idea that pain or injury are acceptable in pursuit of winning the game.
Once again, every interaction of mine is weighed against the risks of injury. If there’s a chance that I’m going to be hurt, that I’m going to fall, that I’m going to get hit, I don’t do the thing. If I see a ball coming in my direction, my instinct is to get the hell out of the way and let physics take its course.
Now, if athletes played like that, sports would be very boring. But it’s amazing to see people throw themselves into the line of danger, to jump high, to fall low, to risk breaking bones or teeth or scraping up their bodies from here to hell in pursuit of winning the game. But not only do they do it, they shake off their injuries and continue playing until they can’t.
Once again, this seems counter-intuitive to me. Not because I’m a stranger to physical pain, or that I believe there aren’t things worth getting hurt for, because their definitely are. But it strikes me that these athletes don’t just will themselves to go for the ball, but, rather, that they do it instinctively: their instinct is the exact opposite of mine.
I wonder why that is. Is that part of the security that comes with being a part of a team, to know that if you are hurt, there are people who will have your back, who can take your place, who will tend to you. Meanwhile, if I do something to get myself injured, I have only myself to rely upon and only myself to blame. I don’t know.
Whatever these existential machinations that these games dredge up, I have to say that there is something nice about being able to go into a gymnasium, or out on AstroTurf under a clear, cool sky, cheer on some awesome young athletes, and immerse myself, just a little bit, into a world that, up until now, has been completely foreign to me.
—
Zach J. Payne writes YA fiction, poetry, and plays. He’s an assistant at Ninja Writers, helping writers find their voices and their tribe. In the past, he read queries as an intern for Pam Victorio, a literary agent at D4EO. He lives in Reno.
If you’d like to support me in my writing, you can contribute to my paypal, or buy something off of my wish list or my book list. You can also sign up for my mailing list:
