SPORTS VERSUS CULTURE Can a culture addict find true love in sports?

By Elizabeth MacGregor

Elizabeth MacGregor is a regular contributor to SideOne, following a successful career in education. She’s a culture addict but never a culture snob.

I am a culture addict, buying tickets to the ballet, opera, theatre, and symphony, and as many interesting rock concerts as my budget can cover. The Stratford Festival is a sure thing on every summer calendar. I have had a local theatre subscription for so long that I finally upgraded from cheap seats to acceptable ones. The Arts have been a focus in my life since I was very young, seeing the Beach Boys live at 13 years old, going backstage to meet the Guess Who at 16, and enjoying Swan Lake, performed by Les Grands Ballets Canadiens, more than once.

Sports, that all-consuming passion of my brothers, had never been mine. I could not bear to watch male members of my family crashing into other bodies on the football field. I never understood the intensity with which my father would yell at the television when Les Canadiens would lose a hockey game, while his young children would be trying to sleep in the next room.

As a matter of fact, I think I grew to not only dislike sports, but to actively ignore them. Jarry Park in Montreal and Exhibition Stadium in Toronto were known to me only by name. I’ve heard rumours that they played baseball in those old stadiums. The Montreal Forum was a place I had actually been inside, but only because of my love of music.

As a matter of fact, I think I grew to not only dislike sports, but to actively ignore them. Jarry Park in Montreal and Exhibition Stadium in Toronto were known to me only by name.

THE BIG CHANGE

Then it all changed. A mutual friend told me that in order to date my future husband, I would be wise to learn everything I could about baseball, and fast. At first I resisted, but my soft scorning tone was not appreciated, and this man actually liked culture as well as sports, so I thought I’d better try.

My soft introduction included helping him smuggle beer and sandwiches into Exhibition Stadium on a Friday evening and Saturday games, with madcap seagulls landing on the field in the seventh inning to await our departure. Every game was watched from hard, metal benches – always cold with rarely enough space to avoid touching the leg of another fan. After accidentally cheering at the wrong time, and attracting too much attention from adjacent fans, I quickly learned to remain silent.

With my now husband as teacher, I became a keen baseball fan. He was a major fan, owning a collection of baseball cards, and autographs, and could rhyme off baseball statistics while our wedding date had to be inscribed on the inside of his ring. If he would come to Stratford, I would learn about baseball.

We brought our infant daughter to her first game, played in Toronto’s then Skydome, sitting so high up that it was impossible to follow the ball. Our two children accompanied us and our in-laws to Tiger Stadium in Detroit to see one of the last games ever played there.

My love of baseball grew, and as teams changed players, I learned all their names and even watched a World Series game on my school-issued laptop during Parent Night after strong-arming one of the teachers for her MLB password. A fan I became.

THEN CAME BASKETBALL

Basketball crept into my consciousness in 2019. As it looked like the Raptors would be serious championship contenders, I started to pay attention. We watched some games, and I marveled how it was so much like dance, with graceful running and jumping.

We watched some games, and I marveled how it was so much like dance, with graceful running and jumping.

The learning curve was steep as I did not know the rules, the players’ names, or their quirks. Kawhi

Leonard, a name Torontonians won’t soon forget, was unknown to me. As many did, I marveled as Leonard’s basket had the ball skimming the rim endlessly while all held their breath, peeking through fingers to see if it actually, by some higher power, went in, and saved the game – winning the Raptors a spot in the Eastern Conference final, the farthest they had ever gone.

When the 2019-20 season came along, I was a convert. I loved basketball, and never missed a Raptors game on TV. My husband and I shared this passion and it was just so much fun to watch our home team win over and over again, and expound on the unfairness of the referees when they lost. A plus: their season fit nicely with the plays I had already booked.

When theatres went dark, basketball found a way to continue. I found myself reading every article written about them, and caring if one of the players was injured, the way I read about the newest art show by Ai Weiwei, or Karen Kain considering retirement.

Admiring Norman Powell’s jump shots, wondering at Serge Ibaka’s strange kissing of the ball, and cringing at Kyle Lowry’s strategic stops in front of players had me amazed at my caring. Would Chris Boucher and Matt Thomas, the bench players, replace the starters to give them a rest or would the starters play every playoff game? I sat in wonderment at how this game, this team, could capture my attention like this. The keen interest I bring to the new theatre season was now sparked by a game.

Sports and culture can engage our excitement, uplift our expectations, take us away from our personal demons and make us cheer.

CAN THEY COEXIST?

Culture and sports, a combination I would not have previously considered as complementary in my life, have proven to be great entertainment. I still will not watch football or hockey, preferring to not witness intense bodily contact, but I also steer away from heavy metal and plays with dark or depressing themes. So wonderful to have choices.

Sports and culture can engage our excitement, uplift our expectations, take us away from our personal demons and make us cheer. I feel grateful that I enjoy both, though I am still surprised by it.