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You might have gotten the impression from my blog that I don’t really care all that much about sports. After all, I seldom write anything on the topic.
You wouldn’t be far wrong, actually. I don’t care much.
Oh, I like certain teams to win. I’m happy, for instance, when I hear that BYU has won. (I care about BYU. It represents things that I believe in.) And, if there’s any kind of a football game on the screen, I’ll watch it. And, if I’m there for very long, I’ll become quite interested.
Still, I had an epiphany long ago:
Many, many years back, when I was just a little kid — I’m guessing that it was either 1965, when Los Angeles beat Minnesota four games to three in the World Series, or perhaps even 1963, when the Dodgers beat the Yankees four games to none (!!!!!; I detest the Yankees, even more than I loathe the San Francisco Giants) — people in my neighborhood ran outside to cheer and beat pans and do all of the usual celebratory stuff.
I was an enthusiastic Dodgers fan. Thanks to favor-seeking gifts from my Dad’s materials suppliers, we almost always had really good seats just behind the dugouts at Dodger Stadium in Chavez Ravine. I had been there on 11 May 1963 when Sandy Koufax pitched the first of his four career no-hitters (which would eventually include a perfect game). And it was against the Giants! And against their demonic but genuinely great right-hander Juan Marichal, no less!
So, as I say, we were out there on the street whooping and hollering and, suddenly, it hit me: What do I care? What did I get from the Dodgers’ world championship? And it wasn’t as if the team stood for anything in particular. It didn’t really even stand for Los Angeles. Many of the players, frankly, would have happily moved — and some soon did move — to other teams for the offer of a few additional bucks per year.
I didn’t stop enjoying Dodger games. I didn’t stop rooting for them. But I suddenly realized that, in the cosmic scheme of things, their win-loss record didn’t matter much.
With that long introduction past, though, I’m now posting something about sports. And, specifically, on a recent development in the rivalry between Brigham Young University and another school that, I’m told, is located somewhere north of Utah Valley, perhaps in Tremonton or Herriman. (I don’t think it’s in Dutch John, over by Flaming Gorge. That’s a bit too far east.)
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