A love letter, a thank you note, and a plea.
By Dan Steiner, Senior Writer
Dear Sport,
You’ve been on my mind a lot during lockdown.
Spend enough time apart from something you love and you start to get reflective.
I recently found myself watching ESPN: The Ocho, that channel with all the most esoteric events on it.
Marble Racing.
Competitive Stone Skipping.
The European Tram Driver Championship.
I watched ’em all. And after spending tens of minutes in the company of these gonzo time-killers, I only found myself thinking about you more, wishing you were here.
I even watched Acrobatic Pizza, for crying out loud.
Here’s the synopsis: “These athletes take pizza making to the next level, with events including freestyle acrobatics, largest dough stretch and fastest box folder.”
See what happens when you’re not around?
I know you’re trying.
WrestleMania 36 went ahead last month… minus the crowd. It just wasn’t the same without the silly signs and frenzied fans.
The NRL is committed to a May 28 re-kick off. The PGA Tour (bor-ing! Sorry) is scheduled to tee off in June. The French Open is due to commence serve around October.
Online gaming tournaments featuring tennis and basketball stars are better than nothing, for sure—on a positive note, esports is booming— but I’m a purist: I want physical feats, not pixels.
Still, these are all steps in the right direction, so well done.
Then I remember what has been lost.
EPL: tentative. NBA: still suspended. Wimbledon: cancelled. Summer Olympics: see you next year.
Maybe you’re already aware, but in America alone, according to 2018 PWC figures, you’re worth $US71 billion [media rights, gate revenues, sponsorships, merchandise] and keep tens of thousands of people in jobs.
Need I even mention the billions of people you inspire and entertain?
I don’t mean to dwell on the bad stuff. I guess I just want to show the extent of your absence and how significant you are to society.
What I miss most aren’t actually the games. It’s not even the ritual of going to pubs or stadiums (I do miss venues, though) and drinking beer while watching elite athletes manipulate a ball or move in gnarly ways.
It’s that my favourite teacher has been furloughed.
See: you introduced me to, and taught me about, branding and marketing. Best of all, you did it in secret. I didn’t even realise I was absorbing all this info, since I was so caught up in the action. It’s only now, as I wax nostalgic, that it’s become apparent how much knowledge you’ve imparted.
Without you, my career would’ve suffered. I know I certainly wouldn’t be equipped to write this letter.
You taught me that beneath every jersey lies the fluctuating collective emotions of millions of people worldwide.
Put on a jersey and suddenly you’re part of something bigger. Within that swath of polyester lies tribalism, belonging, and connection. It’s branding at its most potent.
Through you, I discovered that an illustration of a frowning bull can evoke pain, glory, and one of the greatest athletes/competitors/winners ever (as we’re currently being reminded in ESPN’s Michael Jordan doco The Last Dance, which is welcome lockdown viewing).
To that point, you also taught me about personal brands.
I wasn’t previously aware that, for the physically gifted, having a shoe named after you is one of life’s highest honours.
And without you, it’d be tough for me to fathom how a man who
can jump very high could become a multi-billion-dollar brand (for over three decades now, ‘Air’ has been synonymous with ‘Jordan’). This same bloke influenced a global audience to drink highlighter-coloured electrolyte syrup in the hope of being like him. Rarefied brand air, indeed.
You taught me about athlete archetypes: heroes and villains, role models and renegades. And as with brands, each athlete has his or her own personality, narrative, and trajectory — natural and/or choreographed.
On a general life level, you taught me about leadership (it’s earned) and teamwork (it’s essential) and that failure is a learning experience — not just a loss.
I miss the games. But I miss your lessons more.
Like a pandemic, you have universal reach.
Unlike a pandemic, you’re a positive force.
Please come back soon. I need you. Everyone needs you.
Love you always,
Dan
