By: Kenneth E. Boone, Sr.
There are a lot of quotes floating around suggesting that winning is the only thing that matters. I don't agree, because we sometimes can't control the outcome. All we can do is compete and get up each time we get knocked down. I'm Ken Boone. Welcome to my Podcast, “MUCH MORE TO SAY”- In case you don't know by now, I love sports. Particularly team sports. In fact, my love of sports is by far much greater than my love of music. And the reason is simple... I'm better at all things athletic than I am at all things musical. As my interest in sports grew, I started following and rooting for certain professional teams in my area. And growing up in New York City gave me plenty of choices. But for some reason, I preferred to root for the teams that weren't good. Everybody loves a winner. Everyone, except me. In baseball season, I used to root for the Mets and not the Yankees. When football season rolled around, I rooted for the Jets and not the Giants. As for the winter professional sports, I rooted for the Knicks in basketball, and the Rangers in hockey. I must say that when I began following sports, the Knicks and Rangers were the only local professional teams in their respective sports. Once the Nets and Islanders entered the NBA and NHL, respectively, I started rooting for the upstarts. Whenever I participated in a sport, I was drawn toward the competition rather than the actual winning or losing. And that's good, because I lost much more than I won. I'm amazed that I never thought about quitting. While winning felt just as good to me as to the next guy, coming up short isn't the end of the world to me. That's if I gave a sufficient amount of effort to the pursuit. And that, unfortunately, wasn't always the case. There were many times when I simply took my foot off the gas pedal and let the other guy win. I introduced you to my alter ego, “Ken the Doorman” in a previous episode. His name came up in several other episodes along the way. He's no longer able to impede my progress. Now, he's just another item in my toolbox of superpowers, as explained in Episode 95, titled “The Doorman's New Gig”. You know him, but you don't know his origin story. For that, I'll take you back in time to some of my earliest memories. I discovered sports when my mother moved the family from Queens to East Harlem when I was 6 years old. It was a time when I felt totally lost and alone. My father left the family, and my mother was unable to make the mortgage payments on the house we just purchased. In hindsight, her decision to move us to Franklin Plaza was the right one. Her job was a just short bus ride away, as was the new church we began attending. There was a good elementary school was right across the street. She delayed enrolling in that school for three years. I'll get into her reasons in another episode. It was as if I lived in two different worlds. Sunday through Friday, I was surrounded by friends of different ethnic groups and faiths. Some of them didn't even adhere to any religions whatsoever. My connection to those people was cartoons, superheroes, and sports. We played sports from sunup to sundown and watched our fair share on TV. On Saturdays, I'd dress up to attend church services. While my church friends were nice people, they had their own social structures in place. That's because the majority of them attended the same parochial school, giving them at least another five days to interact with each other. I always felt like a visitor, or an extra in their movie. Sports was an important part of both worlds. My church had a basketball team, but not for my age group. But we were allowed, no encouraged, to attend their home games. The roster consisted of high school aged boys and were very good. In fact, it was a dream of boys my age to one day play for red, black and white. My neighborhood had baseball, football, and basketball leagues for kids my age. Unfortunately, games for all of the leagues took place on Saturday mornings. I couldn't participate because I had a prior standing engagement. But we did play a lot of pickup games on Sundays and during the week. One of the reasons why I chose to root for the woeful Mets and Jets went beyond my fondness for underdogs. They both played their home games in Shea Stadium, which was located in Queens, where I used to live. That was my last connection to what I thought was a happier time. The first five years of my love affair with sports was filled with blissful ignorance. My teams were so bad that I truly believed that even I could earn a spot on any of their rosters. Then came the magical period between 1968-1970. January 12, 1969, the underdog New York Jets made good on quarterback Joe Namath's guaranty that they would defeat the heavily favored Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III by the score of 16-7. To this day, conspiracy theorists insist that the game was fixed in order to facilitate the merger of the NFL with the AFL. I watched that game on TV and never thought it was rigged for one minute. Moving on to baseball and the Amazing Mets, who shocked the baseball world by beating the powerhouse Baltimore Orioles in the 1969 World Series four games to one. I was glued to my TV set watching as much of the series as I could. Capping off that period was the improbable victory by the New York Knicks over the Los Angeles Lakers which concluded the 1969-1970 NBA season. The highlight of which was witnessing center Willis Reed hobbling out of the locker room onto the court for warmups, greeted by a thunderous ovation as well as tears of joy. Those events left me feeling a part of something much bigger than me. I was a sports fan living in New York City, the home of champions. And I felt that my cheering, along with millions of other fans, played a role in those teams achieving the improbable. All of that changed the very next year. In 1971, as I moved up to middle school, I again felt like a fish out of water. Because I tested well, I was selected to enroll in a Special Progress program in a more affluent school district. My brother was also in the program, but two grades ahead of me. For some reason, he adjusted to those surroundings much easier than I did. That's probably because he had achieved a certain status because of his musical ability. I didn't have that, but at least I had sports, both as a fan and as a participant. That all changed on Monday, April 19, 1971, what I refer to as the worst day of my life. Before that day, sports was the one thing I could hold on to while everything else was collapsing around me. Here are just some of the events that led up to that fateful date on the calendar. January 11, 1970, the underdog Kansas City Chiefs of the old AFL upset the favored Minnesota Vikings of the old NFL. The Jets won the division once again but lost to the Chiefs 13-6 for a chance to return to the Super Bowl. Moving on to baseball, the Baltimore Orioles beat the Cincinnati Reds to win the 1970 World Series. The Mets finished the 1970 season with a record of 83-79, which was only good enough for a third-place finish in the National League Eastern Division. Two down, one to go. Surely the Knicks will come through for me. But that wasn't the case. On April 30, 1971, just 11 days after the worst day of my life, the Milwaukee Bucks won the NBA Championship by sweeping the Baltimore Bullets in four games. Although the Knicks finished in first place in the Atlantic Division, they lost to the Bullets in the Eastern Conference Finals in Game 7 of the series. I didn't know at the time that just five minutes after the final horn, my life would be altered forever. Feeling dejected that I could no longer say that live in the home of champions, I closed myself off in my room to lick my wounds. Shortly afterwards, my mother said she had to talk to my brother and me. It was then that she told me that she was engaged to the gentleman who became my stepfather. I'm not proud to say that I protested the decision. Not because I didn't like Mr. G. It was that he was much deeper in the religion than even my mother was. In fact, he was the ultimate insider, someone who was “born in the faith”. I remember blurting out that my biological father wouldn't be happy when he returned home from his extended absence. That's when my mother paused for a few seconds before informing me that my father was never coming home. In fact, he had another family, complete with two daughters, two stepdaughters, and one stepson. What a set of revelations to process after your team just got eliminated from the playoffs. The ensuing months and years were like a crazy rollercoaster ride. My academic career got derailed and took decades to get back on track. I developed a cold streak that made healthy interpersonal relationships difficult to form and maintain. I did have my music, but in hindsight, I realized that it was an unrealistic fantasy. What was left for me was sports. While I still continued to compete at a relatively high level, I stopped looking to it as a key component of my identity. It was something I liked to do and watch, but it was also something that would break my heart if I kept investing all of my time and energy in. It wasn't until my son started playing baseball at age nine that my passion reignited. But in this iteration, my sports enthusiasm is tempered with a heathy dose of realism. I only watch sports, and only to be entertained. If my team is winning, I'll continue watching. If they are losing, I just may change the channel to a Hallmark movie. I have no impact on the outcome of the contest. That attitude seems to work just fine. Parting Shots I have never been a sore loser. But does not caring so much about winning make me a lousy fan? Absolutely not. And here's why. This season, I started rooting for the Atlanta Braves. My son has been a Braves' fan for over a decade. In fact, Kenny has taken my ten-year-old granddaughter to their home stadium, Truist Park, a number of times over the past few years. Taking him to a Braves game is on my bucket list. This year, the Braves had a regular season for the ages. Watching them on television was something that Celia and I did over 50 times in 2023. It didn't bother me on the rare occasions that they lost. I would simply change the channel to something else that would keep me entertained. They were favored to win this year's World Series but were upset by the Philadelphia Phillies early in the playoffs. That didn't surprise me because I honestly thought that the Phillies were probably the better team. I guess it proves is that my observational skills are still keen. I believe the Braves do better next year, and I'll cheer them on again, next year. I'm writing the script for this episode on Sunday, October 29th. After I finish writing it, I'll watch the Carolina Panthers, the football I'm currently rooting for, as they take on the Houston Texans. The Panthers are winless in six games this season, with a chance of them taking another beating today. I'll watch for as long as I can tolerate it. I won't yell at the TV, but I will be watching the clock. That's because win, lose, or draw, there's a Hallmark movie coming on at 4:00pm that I refuse to miss. Does that make me a lousy fan? No. It makes me a much bigger fan of cheesy Rom Coms than of professional sports. And as someone who survived my life collapsing on April 19, 1971, I've earned the right to cheer anyway I so choose! P.S. I did get to watch the movie because the game ended exactly at 4:00pm, which means that I got to see the entire game. And to my surprise, the Panthers actually won! We're still in last place, but at least we will not go winless this season. Let's see how they play next Sunday. Today's Quote “Sometimes our lives have to be completely shaken up, changed, and rearranged to relocate us to the place we're meant to be.” Facebook page @LiveToFightAnotherDayByShay
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About the HostKenneth E. Boone, Sr. is a writer, podcaster, music lover, sports enthusiast, and retired accountant. Archives
April 2024
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