Why Sports (and Travel) Matter

In the past months, sports has been reduced to a popcorn pop off or a competition between two ripening bananas, as evidenced from the most recent episode of Saturday Night Live, the “at-home” edition.  The National Basketball Association was (and perhaps may still be) considering a remote “H-O-R-S-E” tournament.  Local sportscasters, desperate for new footage, are now doing play-by-play on home videos of nonagenarian weightlifters.  “This day in sports history” montages are popular as well.  It appears that live sports will be suspended until at least the fall, with, at that time, some teams playing in front of empty stadiums.  Individual sports (perhaps track and field) may return earlier, with, I can only surmise, each athlete carrying hand sanitizer to disinfect equipment after use.  At this point, any of these live options sound fine.

I do not mind repeat footage, to a point.  This weekend, I watched a perfectly good replay of a match between Athletico Madrid and Villarreal, from February.  The problem, of course, is that I soon knew it was from February, that the La Liga season is, for all intents and purposes, over, and that neither club will be qualifying for the UEFA Champions League, reserved for the top 4 clubs in La Liga.  More troubling, however, is that my “home away from home” club (after attending, a few years ago, a scintillating home win on the outskirts of Barcelona against the same Villarreal club), RCD Espanyol, will be relegated to the Segundo Division, for the first time in more than 20 years.  Water under the bridge, given current circumstances.

More than a month has passed since attending my last live match, where my home team, the San Jose Earthquakes, dominated possession but, under intermittent torrential downpours, still found a way to lose resoundingly (5-2) to Minnesota United FC.  Still, to be in the stands and to cheer for the home team, to share in the communal joy (and pain), to celebrate (and to commiserate), to be present, to enjoy a diversion from the bottomless pit of bad global and local news, was special, knowing that it could be, and ultimately was, the last game for quite some time.

Gone as well are my weekend soccer games, the perfect pass, solid defense, teamwork in action, replaced with a competent dribbling app.  I am adapting, you might say.

There are silver linings.  Searching for soccer programming I stumbled upon “Sunderland ‘Til I Die” on Netflix, chronicling the struggles of a storied English soccer club from the northeast that had been demoted twice in two years, from the Premier League to the Championship to League One, where Sunderland, it appears, will start the 2020-21 season.  If only there could more of this fabulous programming.

On a visit to England a few summers ago, I did not venture much beyond London, and, besides, the football clubs would have been on break.  Serendipitously, I was able to attend a League of Ireland Premier Division match in Galway, on the tail end of a 3-week European vacation.

It rains a lot in Galway – to be specific, an average of 225 days a year.  Not surprisingly, my visit to Galway saw rain three out of my four days there.  A heavy rain defined the first day, while downpours complicated an already tricky drive to the Connemara region, to Kylemore Abbey and the charming town of Clifden, on the return to Galway.  Like many, I underestimated the challenges of driving on the left (wrong) side of the road, the unending suggestions and exhortations from my passengers, the narrowness and uneven quality of the roads, the countless roundabouts, the rapidly changing weather conditions, and, of course, parking.  Put otherwise, it soon made sense why insurance for the rental was twice the rental fee.  That said, I can recall few moments more satisfying than returning our Mercedes GLA250 to the rental car agency at Shannon Airport without a scratch.

It rained almost without end on the third day, culminating with a torrential downpour during the match between Galway United FC and Drogheda United FC, both, ironically, since demoted to the League of Ireland First Division.  Of course, this did not temper the enthusiasm of the local fans (or our enjoyment either), as Galway prevailed 3-1 at Eamonn Deacy Park.

Soccer was not part of our itinerary when the day started, but we learned soon enough about the game, bought four tickets for a total of 30 euros, and, thanks to open seating, sat ourselves in the first row of the stands, a few meters from the pitch, at the center line, under a broad awning.  Galway is a northern town, and this was our “life in a northern town” moment, where the local team is the town, and the town is the local team.  Not quite Sunderland, I am sure, but special, nonetheless.

The fourth day, a Saturday, was pure sunshine, perfect for a coach tour (my vacation from driving) along the Wild Atlantic Way to the Cliffs of Moher, a collection of rocks, pastures, and swirling winds, 700 feet above the Atlantic Ocean.

The Connacht Hotel was our home in Galway.  A twenty-minute walk from the center of Galway, Eyre Square, the Connacht was clean and functional.  Behind it, and visible from our room, stood a field as green as could be imagined.  Throughout the day, teams practiced or played matches on this field.  These were mostly soccer teams, of various ages and capabilities.  As one might suspect, the rain had no impact on the teams, and the only thing that seemed to change was the color of the sky.  I wonder if this field is empty these days.

Today, during our global shelter-in-place, it is less easy to imagine playing on this field, the constancy of the practices and games, the periodic downpours, a visit to the pub after a game.  So, when sports (and a more predictable rhythm) return, I will probably look forward to these simple pleasures the most.  In the meantime, I should probably get back to my dribbling app (and to the more practical possibilities of the day).

Comments welcomed.