Have you met Mark Radetic?
Our hero is on the left, blue hat, 24-ounce Michelob Ultra in hand.
Taking in the greatest golfer of all time.
What a day, man, you should have been there.
And judging the crowd of people around Mark, he’s the only one who was.
I’m envious, and they should be too.
Bill Simmons wrote about these types of events.
In The Consequences of Caring, he makes the case, and it has nothing to do with a selfie or a clip for social.
Simmons wrote, “Sports are a metaphor for life. Everything is black and white on the surface. You win, you lose, you laugh, you cry, you cheer, you boo, and most of all, you care. Lurking underneath that surface, that’s where all the good stuff is — the memories, the connections, the love, the fans, the layers that make sports what they are. It’s not about watching your team win the Cup as much as that moment when you wake up thinking, in 12 hours, I might watch my team win the Cup.”
In other words, I enjoy Apple Cup every year even though the Cougs never win. Because it’s not about winning, that is too simple, too binary. It’s about waking up and thinking, “In 12 hours, I might watch my team win.”
Isn’t that true of most things? The date, the party, the game.
Anticipation.
In he article, Simmons is getting ready to fly across the country, from LA to Boston, for game six of the 2012 Eastern Conference Finals when his wife said, “I don’t understand. Why can’t you just watch it from home?”
His answer?
“Because it’s my favorite Celtics team in 25 years. Because there was real history at stake — the LeBron/Wade era hanging in the balance, the Big Three possibly playing their final home game, the distinct possibility of either LeBron’s greatest game or LeBron down three. Because I wanted to be there with my dad. Because I wanted to stroll down Causeway Street, see that familiar sea of green, feel like I never left. Because I wanted to savor those “Let’s Go Celtics” chants, hear the accents, enjoy that only-works-in-person moment before tip-off when a wired Garnett bumps fists with every opposing player, stomps over to the foul line near Boston’s bench and yells at his fans.”
There was no way he was going to watch that on television and have a friend from Boston tell him for the rest of his days, “man, you should have been there.”
There was no way he was going to miss that moment, and the emotion of it. It was more than the game and the outcome. He wanted to drink it all in.
Simmons wrote a beautiful article about the power of sports, no amateur iPhone footage in sight. That wouldn’t have captured even a fraction of it. He had to bear witness.
Mark Radetic and Bill are on the same page.
A few years ago, I was at Jerry World (AT&T Stadium) for a Cowboy’s Monday night Football game. The stadium was amazing, something between a sports arena and a Vegas casino. The game was unbelievable too.
But I was watching the whole damn thing on the jumbotron.
It was hard to avoid. Bizarrely, the picture seemed clearer than the real thing. Brighter. More focused. We had great seats, but not as great as the camera crew.
That massive TV in the middle of the field pulled you in for a replay and it never let go.
You got a good laugh when that weirdo pulled his shirt over his head during the kiss-cam. You think maybe they’ll put my group up on the screen. And you end up watching the next ten plays through that curated point of view.
Total distraction.
That perceived clarity is anything but. It’s adulterated, it’s not clearer than the real thing. How could it be? It’s gussied up in a way that feels good.
It feels good until you realize you are a thousand miles from home to be at this event, and you are watching the same show as everyone at home. The same show you could watch on the couch in your sweats.
I started realizing that I’ve attended hundreds of these events over the past decade, but I haven’t been attentive at many. Instead of bearing witness to the moment, I tried to capture it, like the golf fans with Mark. I’d put a frame around it.
I wanted a keepsake. Something that showed I was there, like a T-shirt or a bumper sticker.
But was I really there?
Even when I controlled my instinct to capture, I’d still fall victim to the technology. I’d still trade out a firsthand account for something filtered. The jumbotron. The hot takes on social. I couldn’t just be there.
And I’d lose a lot of what Bill talked about. “Savor those ‘Let’s Go Celtics’ chants, hear the accents, enjoy that only-works-in-person moment before tip-off.”
Even if you’re in the nosebleed seats, you are part of something if you allow yourself to be there. Maybe something better. Something they won’t show on TV.
If you pay attention, years later you can tell that story about sitting in the 300 level at Yankee Stadium. The old Yankee Stadium. People from all walks of life. A nice young couple on a date sitting just down the way, in front of some college kids.
Man, that’s unfortunate. Hope it goes okay.
You recall the young Italian kid in that group, the one straight out of central casting, gold chain, slicked hair, and a Bernie Williams jersey unbuttoned all the way. You can bear witness to the moment when he doesn’t look so hot, a little queasy, the moment just before he vomits down the back of that young fella on the date.
That is certainly more than you get at home in your sweatpants.
But only if you’re there with them instead of posting pictures of yourself. Only if you pull your gaze from the jumbotron for a moment. Only if you are soaking it all in rather than trying to capture a play, a hit, or a moment, through that glowing box.
Have you met Phil Knight?
Our hero is in the front row, gray sport coat, black tee.
He had himself a Mark Radetic moment not too long-ago enjoying LeBron James.
What a day, man, you should have been there.
And judging the crowd of people around him, he’s the only one who was.
I’m envious, and they should be too.
Even Lebron’s kids (next to Phil) are watching the moment through their phones.
I had seen the picture of Mark and Phil and I had noticed myself doing the Jerry World thing. But it hadn’t really stopped me from being a camera holding, video watching, life missing, fool.
And then this man helped me. His name is Maynard.
Maynard sings for Tool, a rock band, and I was taking in their show at the Tacoma Dome.
I came to find out that Tool has a strict NO CAMERA policy. It’s true, they even talk about it on Reddit.
I figured Maynard was just being a difficult rock star. Fans complained, but hey, what are you going to do?
Security was enforcing the policy. Start taking videos or try for a selfie and they’ll pull you out. Fast.
Tool rocked. It was a tremendous show. The crowd was great, people were enjoying themselves, screaming, singing, and fist pumping. They were all in, sharing a moment with the band and each other.
On the last song of the night, Stinkfist, Maynard said, “since you’ve all been so good…you can take out your little glowing idiot boxes.”
He added, “NO FLASHES, it’s fucking annoying.”
Without a second of hesitation, everyone had their cameras up and out. Instinctual. Habitual.
And I had the overwhelming sensation that Maynard was right. It was unbelievably annoying seeing all these people try to capture this wild experience on their little “glowing idiot boxes.”
Sitting back and taking it in, having the band vibrate through me was much more enjoyable.
Why shrink that experience down to a 3×3 frame?
I’m in recovery now.
I’ve got a hundred pictures of fireworks flying above gasworks park from July 4, 2007. Hundreds of swim races, bat swings, bike rides, and everything else.
Thousands of pictures and hours of video are staying warm in one of Apple’s data centers. I’ll gladly pay my ever-increasing storage fees. I enjoy going back and visiting the moments.
But I’m also being made painfully aware that by spending all that time behind the camera, filtering, and framing, I did not fully take in those moments the way Mark and Phil did.
I wasn’t there, at least not in the way Simmons describes.
The way Maynard mandates.
But I’m working on it.
And the key is to take it all in, live in the moment instead of trying to capture it. The last thing I want to think when I’m old and gray is—man, I should have been there—when I was.
