Sports Parting Shots
Immediately after our last college finals ended, while camping in the woods, my Senior Outdoor Reflection Trip [SORT] of 11 people sat around in a circle, each person reflecting on their time at Harvard. By the time it got to me, it was pouring rain and pitch-black outside, but still, everyone turned to listen to my deep, thoughtful ruminations on the last four years.
I hadn’t known it at the time, but that two-foot putt on the 18th green had marked one of the most special moments of my time at Harvard: It signified the end of my collegiate golf career.
Since I can remember I’ve argued with my friends about sports.
I’ve gotten used to the sounds of a newsroom. The clicking of a dozen keyboards and the quick, clipped footsteps of writers on deadlines. But this was, necessarily, quite different.
March 30, 2011, was a dreary day in Winston-Salem, N.C.—cold, gray, and wet—but that didn’t stop me from getting to BB&T Ballpark early. The Class-A Winston-Salem Dash were hosting the Chicago White Sox, and I was in desperate need of a distraction.
Often times, things turn out exactly as planned. But sometimes, the unexpected or, to paraphrase Vin Scully, the impossible happens. The hero becomes the goat, or the goat the hero; the heavily-favored defending champion allows 29 unanswered points in the fourth quarter and, inexplicably, loses.
So as I prepare to leave the Harvard bubble and enter the real world, I’ll take both the large and small memories with me. The late-night study sessions and the parties, the basketball games and the Sports Board meetings, and all of the hilarious, miserable, debaucherous, and unforgettable moments in between.
What would you put on your bucket list if you found out you only had a few months left to live? It’s a question people love to speculate about, but I don’t think you could possibly know the answer until you are actually faced with your own mortality.
Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Scott.