Last week my husband and I were guests at a small dinner party to welcome a new minister to our community. The evening included an abundance of laughter, scrumptious seafood pasta, and shared memories of two guests who worked together in state government years ago. We discussed the dizzying number of gubernatorial candidates and who among them would be the best governor; we also talked about topics for my next blog. After concluding it would be inappropriate for me to crib from the minister’s upcoming sermon, we landed on the topics of the Olympics or Maine high school basketball.
I confess to staying up way past bedtime to watch the final race in an Olympic snowboard event, only to learn the race had taken place earlier in the day, Mainer Seth Wescott had won another gold medal, and I could have watched all the excitement online without an ounce of sleep deprivation.
I am intrigued by this global celebration of physical excellence and the risks some athletes take to win gold. I admire their skill and ability to focus and train for years, culminating in an event that might last for maybe four and a half minutes. I am less comfortable with what appears to be a national obsession with winning the most medals.
I think I understand the joy and exhilaration that come with winning or performing one’s personal best. There seems to be collegiality among competitors, national and familial pride, an ounce of racial diversity, and excitement and thrill for the spectators. It’s great theater. But it doesn’t hold a candle to the community building that takes place during Maine basketball tournament time.
I have not attended a tournament game since the Winthrop Rambler boys won the Class C championship by one point at the buzzer in 1992. Yet every year I’m glued to the television during tournament time, rooting for competing teams while wishing they both could win. It’s only a slight exaggeration to say that entire communities turn out for the tournaments and that for many they are a highlight of the school year.
If you think I’m joking, look for the paper plate magic marker signs on the routes the school buses travel, athletes in tow, headed to Bangor or Augusta: Go Vikings. Go Lady Lions. We Love #31! Look at the standing-room-only crowds of cheering supportive fans (not spectators, but real fans). Some stay for the week, and many are there to support the players even if they have no family members or friends on the team.
There are no designer uniforms and few histrionics. Drama is limited to the court. Most importantly, there’s a warm and comforting feeling that at least for one week in the year during the long cold month of February, we’re the family of Maine. Does it get any better than that?