I was 21 years old before I went to my first live sporting event. And I was almost late to that event because I didn’t know which door to the gym to use at a college that I’ve attended for three years. While I’m a little embarrassed to admit that, I feel my circumstances are so abnormal that I have a duty to report my thoughts and findings to the public. This is what it was like for me to discover the world of sports in my twenties.
My first sporting event was the Union University women’s volleyball game against Christian Brothers University on Thursday, March 3. When I walked through the door to the Fred DeLay Gymnasium (once I found the right door, that is), it was like I became a little child again– in the sense that everything feels so big to kids, and everything feels even bigger in our memories of being kids.
I had been in the gym before, when it was empty, but seeing the stands filled with people made the room seem massive. It was with the wonder and enchantment of a child that I walked along the side of the court, past players who all seemed to be taller than me, and a net that had to be twice the size of anything I’d ever seen in a movie. The lights were bright, and everything was red and black and white and wood and shiny, shiny.
It was then that I realized that, to me, sports were only ever a thing that existed in movies. Logically, I knew that they existed. I’d seen them on TV. But the most exposure I’d had to sports was through movies. Mostly high school movies, some of which were musical. I had a very set idea in my mind of what sports and the people who played them were like. The whole idea of “going to the game” was something that people in movies did. The discovery that “games” in all their adrenaline pumping, electric glory not only existed, but had always existed in spaces right next to me was, to be candid, both shocking and humbling.
Because of my non-traditional exposure to sports, walking into the gym that night made me feel like I was both on a movie set and in a high school (which, to a homeschooler, was another novel experience to be written another time). I went to the game to watch my friend, broadcast journalism and film studies double major, Alyssa Tatsch. That game was the first one that she and her teammates had been able to play since Covid-19, and it was the first opportunity I had to watch her play. I was so curious to see what volleyball was like, and even more so, what Tatsch was like when she played. I just couldn’t reconcile the creative and intelligent film girl that I knew with the stereotype of athletes that I had in my head, which probably says way more about me than it does about athletes. I had no idea what to expect.
She was good. Really darn good. She had to move fast and jump high and hit hard and block a lot of balls. On that court, Tatsch was a different person. The players seemed to always be in communion with each other, either talking or looking or signaling. With each point, either won or lost, they would circle together to give out pats on the back (Tatsch gave out head pats,) only to disperse and resume their positions a moment later. I was blown away by the physical talent and professionalism my friend displayed; it was a side of her I had never seen before.
“I’m more myself on the court because I’m comfortable with the people I’m with, and I know they’re not judging me because they like having me as a teammate,” Tatsch said.
Tatsch started out doing YMCA volleyball in third grade, then moved on to club volleyball in fifth. This she continued, along with playing high school volleyball, until graduation. Volleyball is a normal element of her life. One of the reasons she enjoys having this team is the meaningful relationships.
“I can’t imagine myself being just a student,” Tatsch said.
After seeing her play, I can’t imagine her just being a student either.
The second ever sporting event of my life came not three days later, and I was no more prepared for it. Opening my car door to sunshine and wind, I walked by a ticket booth and through a gate with a chain-link fence to go sit on actual metal bleachers— inconceivable. At that point, I had accepted that the surreal, movie-set feeling may never fade. I wonder how many games I’ll have to go to before each one stops being a life-altering experience.
Once again, the match is Union versus Christian Brothers, this time in men’s soccer. The sea of grass before me looked so much bigger than the smeary, green thumbprint I’d seen on a TV screen in passing before. I’d walked this field before. I knew it wasn’t that big, but when two sets of eleven men in matching jerseys (another movie staple) walked onto it, the field grew to the size of a small kingdom. The atmosphere was electric and nostalgic, trying to draw memories of past games out of me that I simply didn’t have. People started filling in the stands around me; people who look like they’ve done this a thousand times. They had blankets to keep warm, snacks, drinks and sunglasses for the glare. These people were pros, and I took mental notes of what to bring next time. I wondered if they could tell I’m an amateur. I didn’t feel very much like a “sports” person.
I was there to watch another friend play, sports management major Billy Grogan. From Burnley, England, Grogan started playing soccer around six years old because he copied everything his older brother did. Since then, he’s never stopped.
“A lot of people, especially in the U.K., say it’s more than a game. It’s more like a lifestyle, and I agree with that. It’s a big part of my life, and I think it always will be,” Grogan said.
I had also never seen Grogan play, but unlike with Tatsch, I didn’t wonder what I’d see out on the field. He exudes the kind of confidence that you get when you know that you know what you’re doing; I didn’t need to see him play in order to know that he was good. What did surprise me, however, was the humility and patience he had to explain everything I could want to know about soccer.
“So, I’m a right back, and right backs in general don’t really score many goals, maybe get the odd one, I mean— I don’t score many goals, I mainly assist goals,” he explained to me. “Well, I try to.” He laughed, then explained some more, and I listened, interested for the first time in soccer strategies.
I went to these games because it was something that was important to my friends, and I wanted to go to support them. I didn’t expect to become immersed in an entirely different culture, where pure energy is currency, and history of shared experience is language. Undergoing all of the sensory stimulus of a game for the first time felt like nothing short of an awakening. I finally get it. I get why people love sports so much.
