I absolutely love a high school sports game.
My nephews and niece are at the age now where watching them play has become so much fun because they’re actually good.
You know what I mean.
There’s an actual volley happening in volleyball now. Basketball is legitimately going up and down the court. Football looks like football. They know the game. They understand what they’re supposed to do. They’ve developed the skill and the instinct, and suddenly you’re not just watching little kids play a sport.
You’re watching athletes.
And I love it.
I’ve loved a football game since I was in high school. There is something about Friday night football that has always gotten me—the lights, the colors, the music, the crowd, the excitement.
But watching it now, as an adult, I see something different.
I see everything that happened before those lights came on.
These kids practiced all summer.
Do you know how hot it is during the summer?
And football might be one of the worst possible sports to choose if you don’t like being hot. You’re outside running around wearing PADS. And a HELMET.
But they do it.
They go to camps. They condition. They practice. They learn plays. They work on their bodies and their skills. They give up pieces of their summer because they care about getting better.
Then Friday night comes.
The lights turn on.
The stands fill up.
And all that work shows up on the field.
I think there is something so cool about seeing that kind of commitment in young people.
Most of these kids probably aren’t going to make careers out of sports. They’re not all going to play in college. They certainly aren’t all going pro.
And that’s not really the point.
Because someday, when they think about high school, I have a feeling these are the things they’re going to remember.
The teammates. The practices. The bus rides. The coaches. The game they won. The game they should have won. The time somebody did something absolutely ridiculous in the locker room that they will still be talking about when they’re 40.
They’re going to remember looking into the stands and seeing their people.
And I think that last part matters more than we realize.
Because sports don’t just give kids somewhere to belong. They give families somewhere to belong too.
During sports season, I see my family constantly.
If you didn’t make volleyball, you’re going to football. If you missed football, you better show up at volleyball.
Either way, we’re going to see each other.
And I realized recently how beautiful that actually is.
Sports have created this standing appointment for my family that nobody ever officially made. Nobody sends out an invitation saying, Hey, everybody, let’s make sure we spend time together this week.
We just show up. Because somebody has a game. And there we all are.
Last night, even my Uncle Jon was there. He had flown in from California and had been on a little road trip with his cousin Dick to Massachusetts to see where he was born, and somehow his adventure ended with him sitting in the stands with all of us at a high school football game.
Three generations of people, different lives, different schedules, different everything.
Same stands. Same family. Same team.
And then, with about two minutes left in the game, the sky absolutely opened.
POURING rain.
Everyone started scrambling. People were racing toward their cars and trying to find shelter. Women were screaming and running with jackets over their heads like they were literally going to melt.
I was dying laughing.
It was honestly some of the most excitement I’ve had in a while.
And that’s the thing. I probably won’t remember the score of that game. But I’ll remember that.
I’ll remember Uncle Jon being there. I’ll remember my family in the stands. I’ll remember the lights. I’ll remember everybody running through the rain.
And obviously, I will remember the concession stand.
Because we cannot discuss the importance of American sports without properly recognizing the concession stand.
I LOVE a concession stand.
There is something about buying food from a tiny window at a sporting event that somehow makes it taste 40 percent better.
And now they have these really good cookies.
I digress.
But actually, maybe I don’t. Because the cookies are part of it too.
The cookies are part of the memory. The lights are part of it. The music is part of it. The parents yelling from the stands are part of it. The little kids running around underneath the bleachers are part of it. The teenagers sitting together pretending they aren’t watching the game are part of it. The grandparents are part of it. The rain is part of it.
It’s all part of this little world sports creates.
And maybe that’s why I wanted to give sports their flowers.
Because sports give us something we desperately need: a reason to gather.
They give young people somewhere to put their energy and passion. They teach commitment, teamwork, disappointment, resilience and what it feels like to work toward something with other people.
But they also do something for the rest of us.
They get us out of our houses. They put us in the stands beside one another. They give us something to cheer for together.
And sometimes they make sure a family that might otherwise get busy and go weeks without seeing one another ends up sitting side by side twice in the same week.
That’s pretty powerful.
When summer comes and there aren’t as many games happening, I notice it. I don’t see everybody as much.
Then another season begins. Someone sends the schedule. And here we go again.
Back to the gym. Back to the field. Back under the Friday night lights. Back to the concession stand. Back to each other.
So yes, this is my ode to sports.
To the kids who spend their summers practicing. To the coaches who keep showing up. To the parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles in the stands. To volleyball gyms, basketball courts and Friday night football. To pouring rain. To concession-stand cookies. To screaming your head off for a kid you love. And to having somewhere, week after week, where you know your people are going to be.
Sports deserve their flowers.
Because sometimes a game is so much more than a game.
Sometimes it’s where a family keeps finding each other.
Keep sports great.
