The power and the glory and the beauty

I

About a year ago, I released one of my favorite episodes of Blue 58. I titled it simply “Why.”

I think that episode asks a good question, even if the answer is always going to be a little bit incomplete. Why follow a sport like this? Why devote so much time to tracking and analyzing such a brutal, violent sport, knowing that things are almost assuredly going to end in heartbreak?

I posited that the 2023 Packers season would end in such a way, and so it did. But here we all are, back for more. And 2024 is almost certainly going to end the same way, and it’ll probably be worse. Last year the Packers weren’t considered Super Bowl contenders, but this year they’re among the favorites to not just have a shot at the big game, but to win it all.

So I’m left asking myself again: why do this?

II

About 12 years ago, I was working what would become one of my favorite jobs: I was part of the grounds crew at a country club. I spent every day waking up early and mowing grass. Sometimes I would spend literally every moment of a 10-hour day either pushing or riding on a lawnmower.

And it was great. It was peaceful and just about completely stress free, and I got to work outside. The pay was terrible, something like $7.50 an hour if I remember correctly, but it was good for me.

Since grass doesn’t take the weekends off, we’d have to come in on Saturdays and Sundays to give some of the more high-profile areas of the golf course an extra trim, especially during tournament season. Weekend work was quick; you’d get to the course, grab your mower (something a lot like this) and hit the holes you were assigned. As soon as you were done, you got to call it a day. If we got to the course by 6 a.m., that meant we were usually done by about 8 or 8:30.

One particular Sunday morning, trimming up the approaches and collars around the greens took a bit longer than usual, so I was late getting home. That meant I missed out on church, but I was already up and moving and didn’t want to go back to bed. So, on an impulse, I threw on a pair of running shoes and shorts and off I went.

There was a three-mile loop I usually did in those days, but that Sunday I hit it in reverse. Usually the outbound portion of the loop took me almost due west, heading away from Lake Michigan on a long, slow incline. But reversing my typical route brought me down that incline instead of up it.

And on that run, I had one of the most profound athletic experiences of my life.

That long, slow decline sent me running straight toward the rising sun, and on that late summer day, it felt like it was only a few feet in front of me. Maybe it was the late-stage runner’s high of that particular jaunt, but the golden sun of that morning seemed like it was all around me. I noticed every blade of grass. I could smell the asphalt and the fresh-cut alfalfa from the nearby farmer’s field. It was almost divine. I’ve never been moved to tears just by running before, but that day it was close.

It was, in a word, beautiful.

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