I didn’t grow up playing sports. When I was younger, we moved around way too much for me to be anywhere long enough to learn a sport.
Besides, I gravitated toward the kids who weren’t so likely to be athletes. As I became more of the stereotypical nerdy brainiac by junior high school, it was easy to simply say that I disliked sports, because I could lump the jocks into a group and paint them with a very broad (and unfair) brush as idiots. I didn’t know much about sports and I was pretty disdainful of those who played.
My first real interest in high school sports came when I was editor of my high school newspaper and my own school’s team had a storybook year. The Walker Vikings lost the first game of the year, but they didn’t lose again until the Alabama state championship final in the largest size classification at the time. Even then, though, I was seeing it from the perspective of a student inside his own school. I didn’t see the bigger picture.
It wasn’t until I started working at a newspaper during college that I developed a love for football and basketball. High school sports mattered in the communities we served, so I wrote hundreds of stories about football and basketball — and shot pictures in many dimly lit gyms and many tiny stadiums. Many of those games were in tiny communities where those schools — and pride in their teams — was a big part of holding the community together.
On Friday nights, I might drive to a couple of games, staying long enough at each to get pictures and a feel for the game. Afterward, I’d talk to coaches on the phone, getting quotes from men who were excited about wins and from others who were heartbroken and frustrated about losses. Although I might attend a game or two in person, I would also write another few game stories for games I’d never seen, just based on quotes and stats from coaches.

Did GOP and Democrats get their scripts mixed up this time?
Time and attention are flawless guides to what a person values

Is it abuse to force atypical kids to conform to norms of society?
How could a stranger at sunset possibly know what I had to say?
We all love stories, but principles should trump anecdotes in debate
Why are killing, maiming people elsewhere called moral, ‘legal’?
What demons cause us to abandon one who offers what we need?