Sports is my Jazz

    Some of us get bitten by the bug, and it stays in our blood. Yes, I am probably a lifer. Infected by the virus of watching and following some organized sports, certain teams, certain athletes, certain coaches. Like jazz, or any great, amazing art, that comes planned yet spontaneous, like the saxophonists or pianists that know what to play, but things happen. Things can be unpredictable and surprising, and wonderful.

    I understand aficionados of jazz music, or a particular art form, and how that is their thing. I love some rock music, and other music, to include religious hymns. My life without music would be considerably lessened. j

    

    I don't know if most people, or any people, consider Hieronymus Bosch a major literary character or not. He is for me, because I read one of his books overseas around 2012 or 2013, and I have read all his books since. It adds up to 15 or so. I feel like his persona has become an internal connection to me. Now I have watched about seven seasons of T.V. shows based on those novels, related to four or so other major characters, which to me are based on reality and many things of the real world.

    Bosch is a connoisseur of jazz. We appreciate this. His love and identification for the art of the jazz world is kind of cool.

    In my opinion.

    For me, certain sports and following them and their world is my jazz.

    What does that sound or look like?

    Observing how some 90 some baseball cards of a player named Honus Wagner are worth like million or more each.

    Watching a documentary of Michael Jordan, or Dennis Rodman, or maybe a team like the champion Detroit Pistons or Boston Celtics or L.A. Lakers.

    Watching live sports. The Olympics. Tennis grand slams. Football games. Basketball matches, baseball or soccer (global football).

    Analyzing how the game was won. How the play broke down. How the strategy worked. How the effort was made. How the persistent effort paid off. Individually and collectively.

    How we came up short. How we lost. How we failed.

    

    A microcosm of life.

    To me, many of these things are like jazz, like poetry, like high art.

    And, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

    Magic happens. Not always. But it is there.

    Art and the human strain. A beautiful hodge-podge of music and flow.