Balls were allegedly deflated. And despite the seeming triviality of it all—or, really, because of it—if we look, we can discover profound kernels nestled in the depths of our humanity.
An awesome tension exists in the sporting world. On the one hand, we are playing—and, for many, watching—a game: a group of men trying to advance an oddly-shaped ball into a certain rectangular area to then kick it between two poles. On the other hand, themes like “Winning is everything,” and “Losing is death” weave throughout the tapestry of that same activity. There’s a Monty Python/Saturday Night Live feel to so many of the discussions about moral behavior in the sporting world. Yet we collectively discuss the issues ad nauseam, in a way that frames them as deeply important and, yet, in the face of “real life,” painfully trite.
Philosopher Randolph Feezell frames this tension in sports succinctly, calling it “serious nonseriousness.” And such is life. We know there are profoundly serious tragedies occurring both locally and on a global scale. And yet we live our daily lives concerned with relatively trivial matters both personally, as regards to our having the latest gizmos or wearing a sweater that matches our shirt, and also outwardly in our critiques of such nonserious stuff as T.V.’s reality shows. Sport places us in a similar existential quandary.
Humans are naturally competitive, down to our DNA. It truly is serious stuff on some level. And what better way to get to the core of this than with something as nonserious as games—something as nonserious as the pounds of air per square inch (PSI) encased in an oblong, pig-skin covered object. Now we can safely talk about concepts such as responsibility: Is Tom Brady responsible for disclosing official-approved deflated balls? And relativism: Can “Everybody does it” justify an otherwise nefarious action? And also fairness: Does breaking any rule constitute unfairness? And we can have these conversations without being bogged down by the seriousness of aspects outside the sporting context.
In a recent email, a friend reflected on the current sports-related issues, namely Deflategate, and the ensuing Seattle-New England Super Bowl, saying, “Seattle and Boston folks may think there is something real at stake here, but then it can be nice to remember that it’s all just a game.” He followed it up with the juxtaposition, “Our real heroes are the ones getting tested every day in awful places, not those getting tested just on Sundays.”
Occasionally, we are jolted out of sport’s supposed seriousness and it becomes immediately trivial. I had the unfortunate experience of such an occurrence a few years ago. Our high school’s basketball team was playing a rival in a close game. The fans were doing the usual things fans do: mocking the other team’s players for their mistakes, berating the referee for his apparently-poor calls while the players were deceiving him all the while to make such calls. Amidst all of this, the referee fell to the ground, grasping his chest, not breathing, lifeless. The gymnasium went silent. As I rushed the heart defibrillator to him while our trainer and doctor began CPR, his humanity had become starkly apparent to all. How unfortunate that we needed a near-death experience to remind us how nonserious this all was—to be reminded we ought to treat each other, regardless of the seriousness we place on young men throwing balls through circles.
There’s a reason Emily Post instructs us not to broach certain topics at a dinner party: ethics, politics, and religion are all off the table. They are too emotionally charged for people to discuss in a civil manner. But sports: this is something we can all wrap our intellectual talons around. And, more importantly, because of its nonserious nature, it serves as a safe vehicle by which we can get to the crux of fundamental issues, many of which underlie other taboo subjects of conversation.
As a writer, my books and blog have had one common theme: to take concepts people view as intellectually and emotionally non-threatening and utilize them as vehicles for big-picture conversation. My first book did this through a fictional narrative of a young boy living out life’s big ideas in a fictional world. The second, a college textbook that uses song lyrics and movies to spark philosophical discourse. And my recent book used bumper sticker phrases to do this. Early on, I realized I was free to offer up a nonserious bumper sticker slogan during a dinner party such as, “What If The Hokey Pokey IS What It’s All About?” en lieu of the more overbearing, serious question, “What is the purpose of life?” People discussed the bumper sticker more openly and honestly than if I’d posed the question in a more explicitly philosophically rigorous manner.
Sport, unlike the aforementioned weighty issues, is, at its base, playful and nonserious. It’s confined to an arena. There are clear-cut (for the most part) rules, and big-picture issues built right into it. Issues such as justice, fairness, tacit consent, and meaning are there for people of all walks of life to discuss and to do so safely.
This past week, many have argued we should instead be discussing more important issues in the NFL such as the brain damage that continues to occur. Others, that we should be discussing anything other than what’s going on in the NFL. And it’s true: we should be discussing all of that. But we shouldn’t eschew the other, more trivial issues which serve as a means for reflecting on such profound, serious concepts as rights, morality, compassion, and the human will—all the while, enjoying a little of the nonserious joys of human discourse, play, and competition. Seriously.
