Why we cry over men in tights...

No! Not THOSE Men in Tights!

THESE men in tights...

So... the loss of my favorite baseball player from my favorite team in my favorite sport left me reeling this week. I fought back tears, anger, jealousy and even the true blues. I am not being TOO over-dramatic when I compare it to the first few stages of grief. Check it out...

Seven Stages of Grief:

1. Shock & Disbelief. Check! I (and all of Cards nation) went through this.
2. Pain. Check! Felt like when I got dumped by my high school boyfriend.
3. Anger: Check! 
4. Reflection, Depression: Lots of reflection for sure... which of course left me with fighting the blues.
5. The Upward Turn: I think I'm already in this stage right now.
6. Reconstruction & Working Through
7. Acceptance & Hope

So, what's the big deal? Especially for those of you who couldn't care less about the Cardinals or baseball or maybe even sports at all? I have to admit that the fact I was fighting off some serious feelings actually made me upset with myself. WHY am I fighting off tears (some leaked through) over this?! Seriously?! It's just a sport! He's just an athlete! This is so stupid!!!

Well, last night in bed, as I saw Mr. Pujols in his new Angels attire, and I again felt all these emotions (See 1-4) I asked Dustin "WHY am I reacting this way?!" Then I tried to answer the question with "MAYBE it's because it's been such a hard year of good-byes for me anyway. This just adds to it." I couldn't finish that statement without completely breaking down into tears. I cried not so much for Albert and his millions, but for the tender brokenness inside my heart from a very tough, challenging 2011. And after the tears came some clarity...

For those who loves sports, it is something that can give us hope. Now, I am a Christian so it should go without saying that the main thing that gives me hope is the Lord, Jesus and the Word. But there is something to be said about the impact of sports in our lives. There is real tangible hope that comes from close games your team aren't supposed to win and chanting together with a large group of people all across the world - all hoping and praying for the same outcome! You are united in this. And there is something so magical about it all. This year's Game 6 of the World Series will go down in history as one of the best World Series games ever. I was watching it, chewing on my T-Shirt and constantly making posts on Facebook back and forth with a group of other Cardinals fans - all of located all over the country, but united as if in the same room together. We were all united in hope. But what IS it that does this?

There is something about watching a player as a rookie. You get to know their back story, where they came from, what they lived through, who they are. You know that Albert Pujols was picked 402nd in the draft. You know that Tom Brady was picked 199 in the draft. You see them play and surprise people. Suddenly they are not just a supportive player on a team. Suddenly they have a name and ESPN is saying it. Then they are leading the team to wins. Then they become a star. They fought from all odds to become the best at what they do. And you root for them. You want them to succeed because it's the dream inside each of us - to prevail against the odds. And the easiest, tangible example of overcoming is watching it happen during 3 hours on a field or a court. One team against the other. The dreamers in this world, those with imaginations, those with ambitions... they are often sports fans. Sports fans have hope against hope. Even when we lose the last game in the playoffs, we immediately begin to hope for next year. And we wish our players all the best, especially those who we have been watching play since they were just a no-name 402nd pick rookie.

I have been a writer in some sense ever since I can remember (although I laid it down for nearly a decade). The first story I remember winning a prize for was in like 4th grade. We had a class contest and I won. My story? It was about the bottom of the 9th, down by 2, 2 outs, and Ozzie Smith steps up to the plate. I'm sure you know how my short story ended. It ended with his famous somersaults. Even at that young age, I was so inspired and emotional about sports - it was what I could write about and win a contest. My dad used to sneak a radio into my bedroom at night when I was little so I could finish listening to the Cardinals game - even though it was past my bed time. My parents were not huge sports fans, so I'm not sure how I came to be one. They said they never understood it - no one in my family was big fans. I think it was just in my blood. Maybe it was because I was born against the odds, and I was brought up against them too. (My real mom did drugs while pregnant with me and after I was born - my grandparents rescued me from the horrible environment I was in) So maybe even then - I knew there was something beautiful and overcoming about sports.

When our everyday lives are not going so great, a good game can give you something to hope for, to root for. It gives you people to believe in, to pray for. And it only takes 3 hours to get results. :) Suddenly we can turn on "the game" and see our team winning and we are elated and hope seeps back into our souls.

This year, I had some very difficult health challenges, I said good-bye to my birth mom (who had become a sister to me). I said good-bye to Dustin's grandpa who was the best (and only real) grandfather I'd ever had. I said good-bye to our own little small superhero: a good friend's son who had beat cancer with an amazing attitude and demeanor, but then succumbed to it at the age of 3. All of these deaths were sudden and cut deeply into our hearts. Our worlds as we knew them were turned upside down. We also made a life-changing decision for me to go back to a full-time job, which came with saying good-bye to a lot of things as well. It was just a tough year emotionally. But then... there are the sports...

Kentucky went to the Final Four for the first time since 1998 (I'm a new fan - only since meeting Dustin 10 years ago - so it was a big deal for me!). We went to Dustin's grandparents to watch the game. I remember Dustin was tired and contemplated staying home to watch it. But I wanted him to watch it with pop. Something in me told me it was important (though he was good and healthy then). Dustin had grown up watching the games with his pop and they would call each other during and after big games to talk about them. It was very special between them. We ended up losing that game, but Dustin watched the last game his pop would ever see right by his side. And it was special. Did I cry when we lost? Yes. I wanted us to win it all for pop. But at least they gave it a heck of a run! And pop was the only one who didn't cry or get mad at the loss. He said "Well, they did a great job. No sense in getting upset over it." 

The Titans said good-bye to Jeff Fisher. That was heartbreaking. Jeff Fisher is a good man and has done a lot for Nashville. And he has been the coach of the Titans since I moved here and fell in love with the sport I had never cared too much about. So - yes, I cried when they let him go. 

Then we have my favorite sports team ever: the St. Louis Cardinals. I don't get to watch them play very much here in Nashville. But as the season ticked down, more games became available and when the playoffs came around - I had the extreme pleasure of watching every single one. So the fact that they took it to Game 7 of the World Series was awesome for me - I got to see more games than I have in years! :) And wow... what an amazing ride that was! By this time, all of the difficult events in our lives had already taken place. This run to the finish line was a much welcomed event for me. It was so uplifting, so amazing, so overcoming! Game 6 was the definition of HOPE and why sports fans are sports fans.

So for many of us: Sports goes back to childhood or to a moment or to a hope. We remember where we were when Pujols hit the ball off Lidge that went into outer space. We remember where we were when we saw the Titans perform the Music City Miracle. And where we were when they came up just a foot short from winning it all against the Rams. We remember those moments and however they turned out - they define a moment when we sat on the edge of our seats, and bound together with millions of other fans, all of our hearts hoped for the same outcome. No one is fighting over politics or religion. No one is discussing the economy or the wars or the future of our country. No one cares about how our diet is going or how our kids are doing in school - not in those moments. In those moments, we all have hope and everything else become background noise, even if it's just for a few hours. When that hope is taken away in the last game of the year, it makes sense that our hearts break just a little. When our favorite player or coach is taken away - it's the same thing.

I have had the extreme privilege to watch and hold my breath, eyes wide open, heart beating fast - as Pujols took the plate in a Cardinals uniform for 11 years. That's a long time. That's one year longer than I've even known my husband. I've talked about Pujols to all other Cardinals fans. I remember my niece, Lindsay having a crush on him his rookie year because she heard what a great person he was (before he was crushing every ball that came his way - which was soon to follow). I have SOOOO many memories of LIFE happening around those moments, watching him play. And as I watched him become the star he is now, I truly thought we would have him forever. It only seemed fair since we had cheered for him before news announcers could even correctly pronounce his name. We had embraced him and his charities before his stats had become epic. And I guess I naively allowed myself to believe I would get to share this legacy with my children someday. I remembered my Ozzie Smith story and hoped maybe Pujols would be the legend in St. Louis that he was. Maybe my kids would write their own baseball story based on the Cardinals with Pujols at the plate. But suddenly, with one story line on Thursday morning, December 8th - all those HOPES  were gone. 

Ultimately, my core of faith and hope rests in Jesus. When life is tough, I turn to Him. But sometimes sports seem like a gift from God because of the excitement and hope they bring. And so it was a sad day to realize I would have to lay down that naive expectation. I would not see him go all the way from a rookie to breaking all the records. I would not get that pleasure. In 4 or 5 years, if he does it - a crowd of Angels will cheer for him and since I cheered for him before they knew who he was, it seems unfair. But just like life - sports feel unfair sometimes. But ultimately they go on. Just like life does. And one day, it won't be so heartbreaking. One day, perhaps Freese will fill that role. One day, there will be another rookie to cheer for. And one day, we will do it with our children and eventually grandchildren. But nothing will ever make us forget all those moments we shared. 

After reflecting on it all, I don't feel so silly. I see the deep-rooted connection sports have in our lives, as well as the players we root for. The key is keep your focus on the game. It will continue to be played and new stars will rise. I feel that I'm already rolling into that 5th stage of grief and I'm sure 6 & 7 are right behind it. It's a lot quicker than the other losses we experienced this year. It's not pleasant, but like everything else - time will heal all pain. That, and another amazing, breath-holding, shirt-eating, stomach-wrenching, comeback win. I can't wait.