After having been through already this year the Superbowl, The Winter Olympics, The NBA Finals, Stanley Cup finals, the Masters, and now the World Cup, I find myself reflecting on how great sports are. Sports play a large part in the history of the world. Events like the Olympics and the World Cup bring everyone together and allow us to escape the world. The highlight of Bubba Watson’s son walking up to him after he sealed his victory at the Masters will be played over and over again for the next 50 years.

The history of our lives should be littered with great sports moments. Every time there is a victory or a defeat lives are changed, lessons are taught.

 My memories are filled with incredible sporting memories that I shared with my family and friends. I thought maybe I could share one of them that has always stood out:

My earliest memory is fighting with my brothers to go see the Jazz play. My dad would take three tooth picks and whoever drew the biggest one got to go. Winning the Jazz ticket was one of the biggest rewards of my childhood. I remember the first stop that we made was always Smith’s. We would buy chocolate raisins and licorice. My dad would make us wear the fattest looking coats we had so that we would be able to sneak the candy in. After parking for free a block away from the stadium we would enter the old Salt Palace through an entrance that took us right past the player’s locker room. Before finding our seats my dad would take us as close to the court as he could where we would yell at the players and try and get their autographs while they warmed up.

Once the game started, my dad would go and buy us Nachos, covered in jalapenos. Of course I didn’t complain, I wanted to show him I could hang. I would yell and scream as loud as I could (thinking the opposing players could hear me) throughout the game. When the crowd chanted “D-Fence” I chanted with them. I was watching my heroes take on our common enemies. We always wanted the Jazz to win by more than 10. If they did, on our way home we would get free fries at Hardees.

Once the final horn sounded my dad would put us right next to the player’s tunnel where we would try to get the players signature. Only the lucky kids succeeded. Then we would head home (unless the Jazz won by more than 10).

Memories like the above are why I love sports! Everyone at some point in their lives should have that memory. Before my wife met me she had never been to a Jazz game. She had to pass the test, so I took her to a game. I told her at the start of the game (against the San Antonio Spurs) that if the Jazz lose, we were not getting married. She cheered the entire game! Yelling phrases like “Come on Jazz! My marriage is on the line.” You can guess who won. If you ask her what her favorite sporting memory was she would probably say that time.

We all have those moments. Whether it was at a peewee, high school or a college game, we all have memories that we can share.

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