— William Shakespeare
That line came to mind yesterday, as my family and I watched the remains of the father of my son’s close friend cremated. His widow wails, a sister cries, his children sob. A tearful crowd stands around, uncertain of how to deal with the emotions of loss: grief, anxiety and shock. The atmosphere is thick, awkward, silent, save for the lone elder member of the family who seems to know what to do next. The deceased will never be with us again, physically. We can’t ask him questions, get his opinions, laugh with him, or simply be with him. And the pain of that, the unknown cause, are mysteries that make it difficult to heal.
I had always been fond of Julius Caesar, having played two of the main roles in high school. Up to now, I can quote dozens of memorized lines from the play. Yet, the thought of how each of us would be remembered always stuck in my mind.
Caesar is an ironic character for a sports column. Infirm and deaf in one ear, he practically lived as a spectator, with Mark Anthony playing all the games for him. I wonder if he ever got to play anything as a kid.
For most of us, our youth was filled with sports, games, movement. When you start to walk, you want to run. Then comes jumping, climbing, exploring, with boundless energy. For some, this becomes our mode of self-expression, thus the reason for sports. For others, we put away our sneakers and other playthings a little too early, and settle behind a desk, telling ourselves that, someday soon, we’ll get back to the game. But a lot of us have that empty feeling of never having reconciled with leaving that part of us behind, and get stuck in limbo between that unfinished dream, and whatever other desires we haven’t let out of our hearts.
That’s why I admire athletes whose trademark is consistency and longevity. Some of the athletes I have deep respect for are those who managed to stay at the top of their game for so long, and then had the integrity to step down when it was time. They knew when major challenges had to be overcome, regardless of their state of tiredness or injury. And they knew when the game was over.
Many NBA players, for example, having had their fill of life as a player, prepare well ahead of retirement for their next careers. Retired Utah Jazz forward Karl Malone, for instance, says "Ever since I was a little boy, I wanted to have my own trucking company. That’s what I always wanted, more than basketball." So in 1992, he bought his first 18-wheeler, and filled it with the comforts of home. Trucking is now his full-time occupation.
The San Antonio Spurs’ Sean Elliott opened a pet shop called Full Court Pets, and happily provides the comforts and necessities of pet owners in a growing market. Wayman Tisdale, Mark Price, David Robinson, Shaq O’Neal and many other NBA talents have aspired for a musical career since college. Tisdale’s album, "Hang Time" was widely distributed by Borders bookstores in the US. Of course, Shaq also moved to LA because it’s one of the entertainment capitals of the world.
I guess this time of the year always makes me particularly reflective. The world literally stops. We pay our respects to the dead, all of us. There really isn’t much else to do but be alone with our thoughts, the one thing many of us dread. We often work our way through our hurts, longings and silent desperation, setting them aside like the games we promised ourselves we’d play again, soon. And we do it so much that being alone — even in a safe crowd, we find answering questions like ‘How are you?’ from relations we haven’t seen for ages — uncomfortable. Perhaps the question brings up another one: am I doing what I really want to be doing? Am I happy? Is this the game I want to be playing?
This year is particularly sentimental for me because tomorrow we will be commemorating the tenth death anniversary of my grandfather. He never really got to play games much, graduating in 1939, at the outbreak of World War II. He also contracted polio as an adult, so physical movement was difficult. But, like many of us, he loved sports, too, and was a great armchair coach. He enjoyed watching.
I recall another saying that goes "Nobody on his deathbed ever said he wished he had spent more time at work." I guess when the final buzzer’s about to go off, we suddenly realize the right things we haven’t been doing.
I pray that as we remember those of us whose struggles and games have ended, we remember to look inside our hearts, and find the fire that God put there to enflame us with the passion of life. When my life flashed before my eyes, what do I want to see? And what will people feel when they remember me? It’s not too late to play the game you want to play in your life, before the game’s over.
It’s never too late to be what you might have been.