Pure Sport

In the days of NHL greed, disgruntled Ranger's Pitchers upset because of their own poor performances, and a Yankees team that has shelled out $197 million dollars to sit in 3rd place in the AL East, I am afraid that pure sport is evading us. The love of the game used to drive sports' greats to excellence, but has been replaced with bigger contracts with better signing bonuses. Pure sport is rare, but can be found on the roads of France and on amateur playing fields.

Pure sport is racquetball. I stumbled upon pure sport today when Dave Sessions woke me up from my nap to challenge me to a match of a game I had never played. With all assurances, I will be playing this game again. Great satisfaction was found in a completely sweat-soaked t-shirt, tired and rubbery appendages, and the cries of a small rubber ball, tennis shoes, and my skin as they buffeted the hardwood floor. I felt pure exhilaration as I rapped the ball with my oblong racquet repeatedly, with all the force that I could muster. Even though I lost four consecutive matches, in a game such as racquetball, I know that each opponent leaves victorious.

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