May is always an unusual month in our parts. It’s not yet summer but no longer winter; spring in our state is always a mystery to me, a state of mind rather than a noticeable change. It’s one of the reasons (in my opinion) the Easter holiday is somewhat muted in its celebration.
In other parts of the country, Easter represents a rebirth, a new beginning – which coincides with the springtime return of flowering flowers, plants and, to a degree, the human condition.
For years, the sports calendar followed this pattern.
The winter months were filled with hockey and basketball games; football was finished, and baseball had not yet started. The first sign of the coming thaw was the announcement that pitchers and catchers were to report to their respective camps. It meant spring training baseball, and therefore the season itself, was right around the corner, and even for bad teams, hope springs eternal. But it wasn’t only on the diamond where people would experience optimism, so jump in the time machine with me, won’t you?
A review of the sporting calendar back then would reveal a map of events which was not only a classic tradition, but pure Americana in all its cultural pride and glory. We begin with the conclusion of the college basketball season, the Final Four, which back then was held in a basketball arena (no stadiums) and with all four surviving schools colorfully represented by marching bands, teary-eyed cheerleaders, heartbreaking finishes, and a crowned champion. Many of those years saw the John Wooden dynasty of UCLA take another title (he won 10 in 12 years, I promise – you can look it up). Then it was off to Augusta, Georgia for the first professional golfers’ major championship of the year, the Masters. If ever an event signaled the start of spring, it was the Masters Tournament, complete with its impeccably groomed grounds, and featuring the most dazzling array of floral displays this side of your favorite garden (which Augusta National was in its pre-Masters’ days, when it was an actual tree nursery).
After a few weeks to catch one’s breath, it was off the Louisville, Kentucky for the Run for the Roses – America’s horse race, the Kentucky Derby. You never knew what was in store at that moment; could it be the start of one horse’s run for racing’s Triple Crown? Or would it be a long shot, a horse no one ever heard of, making at least one owner happy (and rich, thanks to the breeding rights which follow the champion). Next up, a short drive up to Indiana for America’s car race, the Indianapolis 500, held at the venerable Indianapolis Motor Speedway. The immensity of that venue cannot be overstated. It’s so big (a 2 ½ mile oval), there’s a regulation 18-hole golf course in the infield!
Get the picture? Over a 4–6-week period, anyone attending those events would get a full flavor of uniquely American sporting events, something that could not be found in any other part of the world. Other countries may host famous events, sure, but not the mixture of events and locations which comprise what you would have witnessed. Not anymore. Television and money have changed all that, so now those events carry far less weight in the sporting calendar. So enjoy the big race or the next game for sure, but as we travel back to the present, remember there was a time when all those things happened consecutively and memorably.
And it was glorious.
