The Gladiator$
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If desired, I can be the stereotypically “nice”, polite Canadian, as Americans like to characterize us. So while the Toronto Blue Jays were rudely defeating the New York Yankees in the baseball playoffs, then beating Seattle to get into the World Series, I politely texted my writer friend Richard, who lives in Seattle.
As a nice Canadian, I needed to apologize for this insensitive behaviour.
Me: I’m reaching out to express sincere apologies about any harm that Canadians may have caused to your emotional well-being. I’m sorry.
Richard: Yeah, what the…? Canada winning the championship of the American League?
Me: Again, I’m sorry. We really, truly didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Honestly.
Richard: What the heck is going on up there? What kind of crazy deals were made to let Canada into Major League Baseball? Next thing you know, there’ll be a franchise in the Arctic Circle.
Me: Oh, yeah? What were they thinking when they allowed Americans into the National Hockey League? Hockey is Canada’s game. Let’s get real, hockey in Florida and Arizona is absurd.
Richard: Well, I can’t think of a single activity that involves 21st century men with sticks that is not absurd. “Here, my son, is a uniform and a stick. Go forth and hit something.”
Me: OK, I can see we’ve moved on. Patriotism can get childish. And churlish.
Richard: So we agree about men with sticks? It’s as if the Bible passage were, “And God said, ‘Cain, here is a stick. Go hit your brother Abel in the head.’” And now look at us.
Me: Agreed. We could go on. And God said, “If thine stick shalt hit a ball, forsooth, thou shalt get to first base. Verily, thou shalt get to first base in life as well! For thou shalt be paid millions of dollars every year if thou hitteth a ball with a stick. And verily, if thou kickest a ball, it shall be known as a football, and if thou throwest a ball into a hoop, it shall be known as a basketball, and henceforth thou shalt be worshipped among men.
“Thou shalt be showered with women and gold and precious gems, and never go hungry.”
Never Go Hungry
“Never go hungry,” indeed. And so it came to pass. Professional baseball players receive an average salary of $5 million US dollars every year.
Japanese superstar Shohei Ohtani has signed a 10-year, $700 million contract with the Los Angeles Dodgers. To supplement his meagre wage and keep from starving, he takes in an additional $100 million yearly off the field from his lucrative sponsorships.
What’s going on? A lot of people in our society work hard at jobs arguably more important than professional sports. They receive a minuscule fraction of these salaries. Why do we fork out these absurd sums for hitting balls with sticks?
Partly it’s about local pride. When the team representing us is a winner, we feel really good about ourselves. And in the case of this year’s World Series matchup between Los Angeles and Toronto, civic pride gets further mixed up with patriotism. This is especially so following Trump’s insulting remarks about Canada, musing about making the thirteen provinces and territories “the 51st state” and calling the Prime Minister “Governor”.
Sports patriotism is funny, of course. Is the Stars and Stripes—powered by LA’s man from Japan—superior to the Maple Leaf, powered by Toronto’s players from the Dominican Republic, Mexico… and the U.S.? How did national pride get mixed up in this?
Who’s Your Hero?
Today in our society we reward athletes, pop singers and movie stars far more than artists, thinkers. Yet there may be a ray of hope for humanity in Eastern Europe, where a poet can be celebrated as a hero. The famed Hungarian writer George Faludy returned to Hungary following the collapse of Communism, after decades of self-exile in Canada. The poet was received with excitement and lionized as a national hero—in a big sports stadium.
Escape to Passion
Another reason we flock, and pay, is our attraction to these heroes, our gladiators. This is nothing new. Gladiators in ancient Rome were sought after for sex; women threw themselves at them. 2,000 years ago the Roman poet and satirist Juvenal wrote of Eppia, a woman who abandons her husband, an elite senator. She runs off with a mere gladiator. Even though his face is scarred from combat, and he stinks with “the smell of the beasts and the arena”, he is irresistibly masculine.
Fast forward 2,000 years. Modern gladiatorial combat offers an escape from difficult world news—Russia invading Ukraine, Hamas terrorists murdering in Israel, the war in Gaza. Everybody is killing innocent civilians. Where have those ancient sticks have gotten us? Since Cain and Abel’s day, they’ve morphed into weapons of mass killing. As my friend Richard said, look where giving men sticks has taken us these days.
No, don’t look. Sports are the perfect distraction. Bring on the World Series. For a while we can escape the wars, the rise of autocrats, global warming. People in countries not being attacked have this luxury. I’m as guilty as the next person. Those guys who hit balls with sticks, get paid absurd sums, and bring tears to the eyes of fans in dramatic games, can somehow make me emotional, too.
I think of that poet in Hungary, celebrated in a stadium. We are not so sophisticated. Our celebrities are not the creative people. But when I’m with the gladiators, I, too, am carried away.
Unable and unwilling to pay astronomical amounts for tickets in the stadium, I am in the City Hall square with some of my grown children and grandkids, watching the game on giant outdoor screens along with thousands of others.
For there’s another reason for society’s sports obsession: the enjoyment of the collective experience. It’s about sharing—and celebrating—together. World Series excitement is now erasing the social, racial, and ethnic differences of diverse Toronto, a metropolis where 51% of the population is foreign‑born; more than 200 languages are spoken.
No matter. Everyone’s rooting for the home team, as one.
Including me. Cheering for those absurdly moneyed gladiators to hit a dumb ball with sticks. I confess.
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Great musings, Peter -- your muse must be smiling.
And to be clear, hitting a ball with a stick is considered one of the most difficult feats in sport. Clubbing fellow humans requires much less talent.
Wonderful, Peter! You’ve captured so many of the things we’re all feeling with wonderful metaphor and humour. And that sounds a lot like the Richard I know!