The day I wrote this, the 147th running of the Kentucky Derby, the greatest two minutes in sports, was returning to its original date of the first Saturday in May. The year before, Covid had derailed the date and changed the order of the events that make up the famed Triple Crown. The dates changed, but also the feel of the race itself, as the usual huge crowds were not there.
But on May 1, 2021, horses and fans will return to the Twin Spires of Churchill Downs, and order in the racing world will be somewhat restored. Yes, the crowd capacity will be limited, but there will indeed be the familiar and energizing sounds of people screaming and cheering on their favorites, which brings me to my point. Racing is great to watch for those of us who love it. So is hockey, baseball, football, basketball, and any other sport. But without the emotional impact and sheer noise factor of the crowds, it is just not the same experience.
I watched tons of horse races on television over the last year, most with only the immediate connections to the horses present, and it felt different. It felt incomplete. I still got chills when a horse I liked crossed the finish line first, or a newbie trainer got their first victory, but something palpable and tangible was missing. Then, last week, I got to watch some of the races leading up to the Derby, with limited crowds. There it was…that energy and emotion. That exhilaration of holding a winning ticket, and the tears of frustration for those involved with a horse that was sure to win, but lost by a nose. The sheer enthusiasm for the sport of kings was returned in some measure, and it was enough…for now.
In any sport, there is the athlete and there is the fan. Both contribute to the most memorable experiences. Without a stadium full of screaming, booing, cheering, stomping fans, a football game lacks luster and emotion. Without the crowd singing during the 7th inning stretch of a baseball game, there is a flatness. Oh, the games may still be exciting and things may happen that you can talk about later with other fans. Records, and bones, may be broken; awards won and lost. But the lifeblood is just not there. The lifeblood is the collective, it flows through the fans. The athletes, human or animal, can feel it when it’s there and miss it when it’s not. They feed off of it, it gives them the juice to run faster, jump higher, go that extra mile.
As fans return to the track, the blood begins to flow again, not just for those in attendance, but for those watching on television. I can feel it through the screen, it’s that intense, and it makes me eager to feel it in person when my own local track opens later this summer.
Fans may be fickle and fair-weather, or diehard lifelong loyalists, but they all bring something to the game, to the sport, that is a necessity for its survival. They bring the boom, the bang, the boisterousness. They bring the roar. They bring the thunder. They bring the lifeblood.
Lemme hear you scream, “Go baby go!”
