It Never Seems to be Enough

There always seems to be something to want. I bet Bill Gates, who has more money than there are reasons to hate Bill Gates, wishes for something. I would like to have the skill set possessed by LeBron James, but I bet he still wishes for something (probably a good point guard). Tom Hanks has won two Oscars, seems happily married, and is financially set for life, but he might still want a writer to come up with the perfect big screen version of his sitcom Bosom Buddies. Okay, maybe not. True contentedness probably doesn’t exist.
When you think about it there are so many things to want it just makes sense to always feel like you are missing something. A person can want material goods, like a fancy car, the newest electronic doo-dad, or the complete library of Rocky and Bullwinkle on DVD. A person can want deeper understanding of the world around them, like answers to the eternal questions. What is the meaning of life? Are there intelligent beings beyond this planet? Why does Ben Affleck keep getting cast in movies? A person can want intangibles, the ability to paint fabulous works of art, an insight into human beings creating a talent to help people face the demons of their psyches, or the power to cloud men’s minds and show all that the weed of crime bears bitter fruit. (A fifty point bonus for the readers who know what hero did that.)
Just this week, I found myself wanting something which really would make no genuine difference in my life. I wanted the Kansas basketball team to win the game. There is no reward coming my way. T. Boone Pickens is not going to offer me millions of dollars to start rooting for the Oklahoma State Cowboys. Mark Cuban is not going to draft me and pay me a huge salary to be a fan of the Dallas Mavericks. I won’t even get a free hat touting the ‘Hawks as the 2008 National Champions. I knew all that going into the game. I sat next to my daughter on the couch appearing to be a very calm person when suddenly I reached over, grabbed her shoulder with one hand and her knee with the other. I shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth and said, “I really want to win this game.”
Why? Why, would watching young tall people run up and down a wooden floor tossing a leather spheroid through an iron hoop more adeptly than another group of young tall people make my life better? I don’t know. But, you know what? I think it did. It was great fun. I yelled when Mario hit the three like I had just been named supreme ruler of Dodge City (meaning I get to decide where the special events center goes). I was keyed up for a long time after the game so I couldn’t sleep. I have to admit I was pretty smart. I had arranged for a vacation day for Tuesday well in advance…hmmm, maybe I should be the one to decide where the special events center goes.
I do understand why some people just don’t get fired up about sports, but I think they are missing something. Sports can be a unifying thing. The Friday before the Final Four was to be played a whole lot of people where I work wore KU shirts. This included people who are far more inclined to wear purple cats than crimson and blue birds. There was a bond. We are not talking about suddenly having Serbs and Croats sharing straws in a malted milkshake at the drug store, but there was camaraderie.
I can remember sitting in my family’s living room and watching the Jayhawks win back in 1988. I can see my father sitting in his recliner as we cheered Danny and his friends over the hated Billy Tubbs and the Sooners. My father and I had a good relationship so it is not like the only thing we shared was sports, but it was something we shared when I was in the room with him or hundreds of miles away pretending to be an adult. I am lucky enough that I watched Monday night’s game with my daughter. We too have a good relationship, but since she is a teenage girl she is therefore as foreign to me as, well, as a teenage girl. They were foreign to me when I was a teenage boy and matters have not improved with age.
I got the victory I wanted, but I still want more stuff.

Christopher Pyle would like to be discovered by a literary agent and given a huge advance on his first novel. All of the agents out there can reach him at occasionallykeen@yahoo.com.