When I was about six years old, the Chicago Bulls were starting their second three-peat. Coming off a playoff defeat from the prior season, Michael Jordan, his tongue, and his teammates were back. My family and I loved watching these guys. We loved that Michael was back from his fling with baseball. We loved Dennis Rodman, no matter his hair color. We loved Phil and we loved that it was all about Chicago.

I remember these family nights around the living room TV. My mom, for the first and probably last time in her life, had a genuine interest in basketball, and even my grandma could pick Michael out of a lineup. My brother was the little kid with huge glasses and hoop dreams, my dad the Lakers aficionado who couldn’t help but root for the Bulls, and then there was me, the little girl who prayed. I vividly remember running into the next room during fourth quarters when the game was close, asking God to guide the Bulls to victory. These prayers were short but must’ve been effective because the last time I checked, the Bulls raised six banners in the 90s.

When I was about six years old, this was how I knew sports. It was exciting, competitive, fostered camaraderie, and it was pure. I’m twenty years old now, and sports is still exciting, competitive, and still fosters camaraderie. But I’m afraid it’s becoming increasingly difficult to call it pure. It broke my heart to read about Favre’s alleged scandal with the Jets reporter for several reasons. First, for everything he accomplished on the field, I wish he could have retired with dignity (and on time). Second, I love watching him play. Still do. There aren’t many athletes in their forties who can make me stand on my feet, bite my nails, and yell at the TV with only a minute left on the clock. I wish I could still watch him without hearing Jenn Sterger’s name in my head. It broke my heart to hear him compared to Tiger and Deanna to Elin. And then there’s Tiger. His story is strange, devastating, and ended in divorce. And let’s be honest, his golf game hasn’t been the same since. Far be it for me to correlate the two, since plenty of analysts have taken care of this. And then there are the more widespread ills plauging sports: steroids, cunning agents, The Decision…

But for every scandal uncovered and steroid taken, there are stories that keep me coming back for more. How about the sportsmanship and compassion of Central Washington, whose softball players carried Sara Tucholsky of Western Oregon around the bases so she could experience her first ever home run after tearing a ligament just past first base (1). Or Kay Kellogg, the sixty-two year old woman with cancer who had one wish to meet Dwight Howard and ended up inspiring him instead (2). Or even last night, when the Rangers clinched a date with the Yankees in the ALCS, and Josh Hamilton's teammates showered him with ginger ale instead of champagne, because they knew how hard he had worked to beat his demons.

These are just a few of the good that comes with the bad, and this can be said for life in general. For now, it is enough to keep me coming back. I believe that sports, in its rawest form, is still pure. I’m going to keep being that little girl who prays.

1) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xVlKtI7yd_s

2) ttp://articles.orlandosentinel.com/2010-09-07/sports/os-bianchi-dwight-howard-magic-20100907_1_dwight-howard-bucket-list-cheap-seats

3) http://www.silive.com/yankees/index.ssf/2010/10/in_team_gesture_texas_rangers.html