One of the many annoying things about the politics of the new administration, for me, is that politics is, in fact, my job.
We’re on spring break, which is a blessing. And this break, I elected to stay in Florida. This is actually also a blessing, since I work some events for our (very successful, radically non-political) athletic department, and they were shorthanded.
On the day of the new president’s speech to Congress, I announced a women’s lacrosse match (they won; they are currently undefeated), followed a few hours later by running a clock for our men’s basketball team, as they blew through the quarterfinals of our conference championship series. The only glitch all day was an “information technology” breakdown in the arena scoreboard. But when you’re up by 20 points, it’s hard to see it as any more than a passing inconvenience.
I usually depart fairly quickly at the end of a day like that, but Tuesday night was a bit different. The president was expected to start his speech at 9 p.m., which was just about the time the basketball game ended. I hung around a bit at the end, celebrating with a few of the players and folks from the crowd, pulling in the vibe, but eventually dragged my bike out of the equipment closet and headed for the doors.
I usually bolt across campus, trying to stay ahead of the golf carts moving people to the parking lots, but decided I was in no hurry to get in front of the screeching, and dropped by the softball game that was in its final innings instead.
Athletic competition is the reverse of politics: the obverse, in fact. Face-front, where politics is so often backdoor and creepy. Athletic competition is clean, mostly, with well-defined commandments of practice and referees to enforce them.
As crazy as some games are, and as much as we may whine and yell about a rotten call, they never completely go off the rails because all agree that without the sharply-calibrated collaborative rules we all know and can often quote, there’s no point. Even when the rivalry between teams or individuals is raw, there seems to always be some element of respect for the “other folks.” The reason the rivalry is a hot one is because the teams are so good, and you’ve probably got a history that’s pretty balanced.
I’ve always had a weirdly bifurcated life – balanced somewhere between my love of politics and my love of sport. When I taught up north, I formally blended these things – I taught four classes per semester and coached two tough college teams at the same time.
There’s an inside joke in my classes today, in fact, that you can’t get into the material until Anderson has: A) updated you on the games of the night or weekend before; B) celebrated any athletes in the room; and C) told you when the next games are, and why you’d be a fool to miss them. I also celebrate our orchestra, our theater casts and our poets and writers who have successes of their own. It’s not physical competition, but the passion for excellence is the same.
I only wish our current politics were more like this. Sometimes it is, when the debates and arguments and shuffling for advantage are cleaner. But not in this, the era of ugliness.
I never did watch the speech “live,” instead electing to digest the undigestible through that form of instant replay which is a constant in the political world.
The softball team eventually lost – by a large margin – but this was the end of a doubleheader, and they had fought hard and won the first one, ending the day even-up and ready for the next one. The energy was amazing, the teams shook hands at the end, and the players, on their way home, were no doubt in hot discussion about how to be better next time out.
R. Bruce Anderson is the Dr. Sarah D. and L. Kirk McKay, Jr. Endowed Chair in American History, Government, and Civics and Miller Distinguished Professor of Political Science at Florida Southern College in Lakeland. He is also a columnist for The Ledger and political consultant and on-air commentator for WLKF Radio.
