On the Detroit Lions, burpees and hope
One win doesn't change anything. Not yet, at least.
One day at dinner, I noted in passing that my Detroit Lions were playing on TV that week, a rare occurrence considering we live in St. Louis. My daughter blinked her bottomless brown eyes and asked, “what do the Lions play for?” That was a question as deep as it was profound—getting to the very nature of sports and why we watch.
My heart swelled with pride at her inquisitive spirit. This was a quantum leap from her other memorable Detroit-related sports question, which was asking me if Danica was playing as I watched the Tigers.
Her question intrigued me. I didn’t know what to say. This morning, one of the happiest of my 52 years of being a fan, I wonder more than ever: What do the Lions play for? More to the point, why do I watch?
One good game does not erase decade upon decade of Same Old Lions terribleness, and I’ve been down this “hey, they played pretty good maybe things will be different” road enough times to not believe they’re on a different one.
Not yet, at least.
But she asked a good question and deserved a good answer. One started to form in my head, one inspired by Rick Reilly.
Sweet girl, I thought, the Lions play to teach us not to hope too deeply in the things of this world, to show us that if we long for the impossible accomplishments of men, we will always be disappointed.
One win doesn’t change that.
Not yet, at least.
The Lions play, my child, so that we can learn that there is no win so seemingly in the bag that it can’t be lost. The Lions play, beloved one, to teach us that even if we know deep down in the most open and honest recesses of our souls that they will lose and it will be catastrophic, that one fleeting moment when it seems they might win still feels pretty good, and that we will go back to that acidic well no matter how many times our heads get dunked into it.
That’s why I’m so confused this morning, like a man who wants to scratch a foot lost by amputation. Oh my gosh I get to scan the Lions headlines for creativity and I will like them!
Oh, darling the Lions play to teach us faith, hope and love are great but without a competent secondary they’re still going to be vulnerable defensively.
The Lions play to teach us that while the difference between one particular win and one particular loss might be inches, the difference between the Lions and a good team is infinite.
Yesterday’s win won’t change that.
Not yet, at least.
But a couple more might.
Sweetheart, I thought to myself, I’m not 100 percent sure what the Lions play for, nor can I explain why I still get mad at them for losing because that’s like getting mad at a leopard for having spots.
Oh-and-16—sunshine, I’m not ready to talk about that yet. Some day, when you’re older—say, 35, or maybe 50—ask me about Oh-and-16 and Barry retiring and Sterling Sharpe.
Oh, sure, there is joy. The Lions play for that, I suppose. But it’s very existence only illustrates how fleeting it is. Barry Sanders and Calvin Johnson and Matt Stafford prove that. I firmly believe that the things in life that make us laugh and cry at the same time are 100 percent good for us … I just wish the Lions knew that it’s not necessary to do so every week of every season for all eternity.
The Lions play to teach us to endure. So does MABA. Maybe the real reason they won is they love burpees! How awesome would it be if we got them signed up for MABA?
MABA would teach them to endure, too. But endure for what? To prepare us for more suffering, of course. Every tear you have shed in your short life is a white-hot knife cut into my heart. How will I live with myself if I introduce you to the Lions and thus not only more pain but pain for which there is no relief, no absolution and no end.
Not yet, at least.
What do the Lions play for? The Lions play, my lovely, because maybe today is the day but of course it never is.
Except … except … once or twice in a lifetime—in my lifetime, at least—there are games like last night and mornings like this, where our hopes are not dashed, where our passions are justified, when the thing we love remains lovable.
Frankly, I’m still a little baffled. That game … it was real, right? They actually won a big game, and it was close, and it was on national television, and … and … this emotion … is it happiness? Relief? Delirium?
And also I don’t understand how fans of good teams handle this. I needed a defibrillator, and it was only one playoff win in 32 years.
I ponder all of these things—sports and winning and losing and faith and doubt and, endurance and hope. I ready myself to answer her question. What do the Lions play for? I will tell you, honey.
I start to talk, and she interrupts me to point out she meant to say what city do the Lions play for.
Send me video/photos of yourself doing burpees in strange places
MABA has blessed me in many ways. Not least is that I get emails like this one from John “Flame” Showalter, 30, of the Blue Ridge region (West Virginia).
Here’s a video of me doing burpees from a hospital room this past Thursday:
My daughter was born on Wednesday night and I ended up with some extra time on my hands the day after. I really didn’t want to get behind on the 100 burpees/day minimum and wasn’t sure how many I’d be able to get in over the next few weeks. So burpees in the hospital it was.
John Showalter (Flame)
SIGN UP NOW FOR Year 4 of MABA. It started Monday, but there’s plenty of time to log burpees. MABA—Make America Burpee Again—is an annual challenge in which participants do 100 burpees a day (on average) every day in January.
Loneliness is killing us, middle-aged men especially, and MABA is a cure. You can’t be lonely when you’re doing 100 burpees a day with your friends.
MABA’s theme is Fall down. Get back up. Together.
We all fall down. We all have to get back up. We must not do it alone.
Sign up today and challenge your friends, enemies and frenemies to join you. Quick note: If your kids are doing burpees with you, please log them as a separate entry. They will love that, and so will you! Every burpee counts!
Log your burpees here. And you’re not going to do 3,100 burpees and not buy a shirt, are you?