‘Tis the season of gifts. Summer starts today. Last night was the first ‘strawberry moon’ in 70 years – in my lifetime; full moon on the solstice. And the Cavs are the NBA champs.
I am not a basketball fan. My preferred sport is baseball – its timelessness, the absence of do-overs, letting the moment stand, the beauty and rarity of an unassisted triple play, the green of the grass in that bowl of space … I could go on.
But I am a Clevelander and how can I not be a fan of the Cavs at this moment when they gave this city a spectacular, redeeming gift.
I have always championed my city – even in its darkest days. I have defended it on airplanes when the guy behind me got vocal about ‘having’ to come to Cleveland for a meeting. Smiled smugly when staff from the Rockefeller and Ford Foundations left Severance Hall after a Cleveland Orchestra performance shaking their heads in admiration and saying “I’ll never hear Schubert played like that again in my life.”
And though I have not been a follower of basketball, I have been keenly aware of the community impact of this game at this moment in my city’s life cycle. We are on the rise – this time, I believe, for real. So the promise – the hope – of finally putting our 50 year long sports disappointment to rest was important to me. And so I watched the game. Rather, I flipped back and forth between the game and whatever was on PBS, because I am a wimp when it comes to being a witness to potential disaster. (I can’t watch figure skating or gymnastics in the Olympics for this reason either.) But I watched the final moments of Game 7. I felt I owed it to this amazing team – and in a way, to LeBron, to stick with them to the end, no matter the outcome.
I will make no attempt to comment on the game itself – that would be foolish, because, so many others have done such a beautiful job of it. In fact, I have always been impressed with how stunningly beautiful and moving much sports writing is. Take the essay “Is this Heaven?” in this morning’s Times by John Hyduk. As a rabid fan of just plain, good writing, I must say that there’s a lot of sports writing that touches the human in us as profoundly as that of any other genre. Roger Angell, of course, Jonathan Schwartz, Roger Kahn and John Updike as well, to name a few on the national/international level. But local writers have their day too; Bill Livingston and Bud Shaw often write stunningly evocative columns.
And if you are a fan of baseball and beautiful poetry, I recommend Steve Brightman’s chapbook, ‘In Brilliant Explosions Alone’ published by Night Ballet Press. From the Press’ website; It is a “breakdown of the 2008 season of former Cleveland Indians pitcher Jeremy Sowers…it is a chapbook about individual struggle with expectation, the desire for success in the field in which you show talent, and about how others perceive you in that struggle.”
Well, this is more than I intended to write this second day after the glow of our Cav’s great gift to my city. I couldn’t restrain myself from adding my kudos and my excitement to this moment though. I’ll just end this brief post with two baseball poems I’ve written – one a haiku. Read them here: Aria and Benediction.