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Hello Summer!
- Joined
- Nov 1, 2005
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Yesterday, baseball honored the 60th anniversary of the day Jackie Robinson entered the Major Leagues and changed the sport forever. This caused me some reflection, which I hope you'll indulge.
While I understand well the thrill of sports, I've always been bewiltered at how sports figures earn the title of "hero." I'll hear people say, "Mickey Mantle was my hero when I was a boy!" or "Michael Jordon was my hero!" And I don't quite understand. Certainly, any sports figure can do good deeds and be a role model. He can use his money to feed hungry children, use his fame to raise awareness for an important cause. He can do any number of admirable things. But the label of "hero" is often applied to him *just* because he is an extraordinary athlete who breaks records or helps his team to win in a competition that is, after all, artificial.
How is this heroic? He's not using his superior athletic abilities to go into a burning building and carry out little old ladies. He's not using that pitching arm to throw grenades into an enemy camp and win a critical battle. He's not swimming out to save folk who might be drowning. How is scoring the winning point against an oppositing team in a game with civilized rules...heroic?
In particular, I've never understood the application of this title to baseball players...until I learned about Jackie Robinson.
On the day Jackie Robinson first stepped out in uniform to join the Dodgers at practice: "Only two of his 24 teammates bothered to say "Hi" or welcome him to the team. That's not surprising when you consider that one teammate was named Dixie and was embarrassed to have a black teammate, another nicknamed "Nig" for his olive skin, and a Dodgers pitcher, asked how he developed his arm as a kid, answered, 'Throwing rocks at Negroes.'"
This was the world he entered, it was not the world he left and that was thanks to him and his heroism that it changed. Here was a man who knew what hell he was going to face on the field and off. He knew as well that he was going to have to swallow it down, show what he was made of, and just do his best. It didn't matter what other players, fans or teammates thought of him, said to him or did to him. It didn't matter if it got him hate mail and threats or even if it lost him his life...and it could have cost him that if someone had taken it into their head to kill him for playing in a game that was held, by some, as sacredly white.
I rather like this particular quote from one article: "Robinson turned out to be racism's worst nightmare -- a bad-ass with a brain, a bat, a mission and a family to feed. It was one man against the world, and it turned out to be a mismatch." As if that wasn't enough, "Robinson was about winning. He joined a lousy team and led the Dodgers to six NL pennants in his 10 seasons."
He certainly joined the Dodgers for his family and for the pay, but he also did it for future generations and for the game itself. All alone for that first year at least, he opened the doors of this "all American" sport to all Americans. It was no easy thing to do. Yesterday, the Dodgers came out on the field, all wearing #42 in acknowledgement of Robinson and his legacy. And in that spirit, I admit...there are figures in sports worthy of being called "heroes."
http://www.latimes.com/media/photo/2007-04/29079112.jpg
While I understand well the thrill of sports, I've always been bewiltered at how sports figures earn the title of "hero." I'll hear people say, "Mickey Mantle was my hero when I was a boy!" or "Michael Jordon was my hero!" And I don't quite understand. Certainly, any sports figure can do good deeds and be a role model. He can use his money to feed hungry children, use his fame to raise awareness for an important cause. He can do any number of admirable things. But the label of "hero" is often applied to him *just* because he is an extraordinary athlete who breaks records or helps his team to win in a competition that is, after all, artificial.
How is this heroic? He's not using his superior athletic abilities to go into a burning building and carry out little old ladies. He's not using that pitching arm to throw grenades into an enemy camp and win a critical battle. He's not swimming out to save folk who might be drowning. How is scoring the winning point against an oppositing team in a game with civilized rules...heroic?
In particular, I've never understood the application of this title to baseball players...until I learned about Jackie Robinson.
On the day Jackie Robinson first stepped out in uniform to join the Dodgers at practice: "Only two of his 24 teammates bothered to say "Hi" or welcome him to the team. That's not surprising when you consider that one teammate was named Dixie and was embarrassed to have a black teammate, another nicknamed "Nig" for his olive skin, and a Dodgers pitcher, asked how he developed his arm as a kid, answered, 'Throwing rocks at Negroes.'"
This was the world he entered, it was not the world he left and that was thanks to him and his heroism that it changed. Here was a man who knew what hell he was going to face on the field and off. He knew as well that he was going to have to swallow it down, show what he was made of, and just do his best. It didn't matter what other players, fans or teammates thought of him, said to him or did to him. It didn't matter if it got him hate mail and threats or even if it lost him his life...and it could have cost him that if someone had taken it into their head to kill him for playing in a game that was held, by some, as sacredly white.
I rather like this particular quote from one article: "Robinson turned out to be racism's worst nightmare -- a bad-ass with a brain, a bat, a mission and a family to feed. It was one man against the world, and it turned out to be a mismatch." As if that wasn't enough, "Robinson was about winning. He joined a lousy team and led the Dodgers to six NL pennants in his 10 seasons."
He certainly joined the Dodgers for his family and for the pay, but he also did it for future generations and for the game itself. All alone for that first year at least, he opened the doors of this "all American" sport to all Americans. It was no easy thing to do. Yesterday, the Dodgers came out on the field, all wearing #42 in acknowledgement of Robinson and his legacy. And in that spirit, I admit...there are figures in sports worthy of being called "heroes."
http://www.latimes.com/media/photo/2007-04/29079112.jpg
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