Logo

Perspectives on Popularity

January 13, 2015

With the National Football League about to take center stage in this country’s sporting drama this month, some “Down Under” comparisons provide perspective to moderate how popular and venerable the NFL is.
The NFL’s longest waiting list to become a season ticket holder is found in the NFL’s smallest market, Green Bay, where the waiting list to become a Packer season ticket holder is now 30 years. It’s so crazy that my sister, who splits her time between Vermont and Florida, still controls the two season tickets her father first obtained 55 years ago; and the tickets never go unused. The Packers season ticket waiting list is more than 80,000 names long.
However, the waiting list to join the Melbourne Cricket Club in Australia is even more imposing. Currently, more than 236,000 people are waiting to join the more than 100,000 active members, 40 percent of whom have only “restricted” privileges. An average of 10,000 fans join the waiting list each year, and their projected waiting time has now reached more than 40 years.
The Melbourne Cricket Club is the oldest sporting club in Australia, founded in 1838; while the Green Bay Packers is a relative upstart, founded in 1919. Still, it is the oldest NFL franchise in continuous operation with the same name and city ... since 1921 ... 83 years after the Melbourne Cricket Club.
By the way, the Michigan High School Athletic Association has operated under that name since 1920 ... one year longer than the Packers.

Ali

July 8, 2016

My wife has never held famous athletes and coaches in very high regard. Much of this has to do with her disdain for misplaced priorities – so much attention and extravagant spending devoted to entertainment and sports when so much of the world’s population is without most basic essentials of life.

Because of my work, my wife occasionally has been in the company of some of the biggest names in American sports; but only one clenched her in rapt attention. It was Muhammad Ali.

We were attending a banquet at which Ali was honored. We sat at adjacent tables, with the back of my wife’s chair almost touching the back of the chair to which Ali was being ushered, slowly because of his disease.

We all stood as Ali entered. My wife’s eyes were on Ali; my eyes were on my wife, for I had never seen her give respect to a sports personality in this manner.

After the banquet, and at times since then, and certainly again after his death June 3, my wife and I have talked about what it is in Ali that she hasn’t seen in other prominent sports figures.

We noted that he brought elegance to a brutal sport, and charm to boastfulness. We cited the twinkle in his eye that outlasted his diseased body.

We recalled the tolerance and dignity he brought to his faith, and how he demonstrated his faith commitment at the most inconvenient time in his career.

We recalled his poetry when he was young and talked too much, and his use of magic to communicate after disease stole his words, as he did that night we were with him.

Years after that banquet, when Ali lit the Olympic flame at the 1996 Olympics, my wife cried. She had tears in her eyes again when that moment was replayed on the day after Ali’s death.

Ali ascended to worldwide fame in a different era – when professional media tended to be enablers more than investigative journalists, and before social media pushed every personal weakness around the planet overnight. It’s possible Ali would not have been as loved if he had emerged in public life today. It’s also possible he would have been even more beloved.