The Fall

As published in The County Times (countytimes.somd.com)

By Ronald N. Guy Jr.

Pre-dawn alarms begin long high school days; daily practices follow that end at dusk.  Various artifacts of competition – smelly uniforms, sweaty socks, blood-stained shorts and muddy shoes, among other aromatic articles – line garage floors and laundry rooms.  Wash, dry, fold and repeat.  This is the evening’s drill – shocking at first, then, for the fully initiated, it is executed with precision and barely a conscious thought.

Then the “fun” really starts.  For some, impossibly early mornings precede long bus rides where opponents are met.  For others, mercifully later bus rides, equally long, end deep into the night leaving no hope for adequate sleep.  The places they travel to have massive light pillars to illuminate fields, enabling competition beyond the bounds of the sun’s stay.  There are lines, goals, nets, fields of grass, sticks, clubs and rackets.  Pads pop and bells ring.  Fans scream.  The voices of athletes call out plays, encouragement and strategic advice.  Flags fly through the air to indicate infractions.  Cards are raised - some yellow, some red.  Balls smack against sticks, thud off of feet and are hurled through the air.  Dozens of runners line across a field awaiting the gun’s start before sprinting in mass through grass and mud, up and down hills and around turns for miles of lung-straining agony.  Ankles are swollen, shoulders are bruised, knees ache and flesh wounds are covered in gauze pads, medical tap or nature’s answer – scabs.

In the moment, it can all feel like agony – it’s all too early, too late, too hard…just too much.  Why am I doing this?  What was I thinking?  These are the early morning and late-night thoughts as aching young bodies are forced from or fall into bed.  But then the rewards completely rework the brain’s chemistry.  Personal bests, team accomplishments, teammates pushing one another to unbelievable heights or helping one another through difficult defeats.  The camaraderie, the friendships, the memories: This is worth it…all of it…without question.

As October turns to November, another season of high school fall sports draws to a close.  The tempo repeats annually, and similarly with winter and spring sports, as each school year unfolds.  Having been an observer (as a dad) of eight fall sports seasons now, there is much to reflect on.  I can see busses arriving back to school late at night; others are warmed up and ready to go before dawn.  There are scoreboards and race clocks.  Referees and event organizers.  Fellow parents.  Coaches giving so much to their schools and teams.  And, I see the athletes.  Goofing off before the games.  High fiving after strong efforts.  Helping teammates up, emotionally as much as physically, after a tough deal.  Mostly, though, I see their faces; they paint so many pictures – smiles, grimaces, confidence, uncertainty, determination, disappointment and joy.  And that timeless life lesson: You get out of something what you put into it. 

As I ponder my own kids’ experiences, I wonder about the other athletes.  How did they all get here, in this moment of intense competition?  Beyond the school they are representing, where are they from?  How long was their bus ride?  How do they feel?  How much sleep are they working on?  What joint hurts the most?  None of it ever seems to matter in the moment.  They are all volunteers.  They chose this challenge and immersive journey in the sport they curse at times but love with every fiber of their being.  That love, with a healthy dash of youthful spirit, is what I will always remember from singular events and my now long mental scroll of seasons. 

For some sports, that magic is muted at the professional level.  College sports too, with NIL deals and the transfer portal, aren’t quite what they used to be.  There’s a business aspect of it - an “I’m all-in on this as long as it serves me” - that just isn’t as pure.  So as the high school fall sports season draws to a close, as athletes leave the field or the court or the trail for the last time, a final grateful thought comes to mind: This is the very best of sports.