Poetry and The Olympics (or the Pursuit of Excellence)

This afternoon, after 2 hours of Boggle and Apples to Apples with the family, I flipped on the Olympics and became immediately engrossed in the USA-Montenegro men's water polo match.

Yes, I know the women's beach volleyball was on opposite. I suppose that says something about me.

I freely admit to being a sports junkie. While baseball has always been my game of choice - to watch, to play, to simulate on Xbox, to play in tabletop form with Baseball Strategy*, APBA, Longball**, whatever - any combination of skill and competition has the potential to capture my attention. When I understand enough of how a game is played to appreciate the requisite skill, or it's one I play at a low level, I really enjoy watching people do it well.***

Of course, there's a lot to be said for the up-and-comers, too. When I was attended a cousin's little league game, I appreciated the kids' effort - at least those who seemed to be interested in the game. It was coach-pitch, the level at which you begin to screen out the kids who are playing because they like the uniform and the 90 minutes out of the house from those who want to be ball players.

I suppose I have the same feeling about poets.

I likewise admit to being a word junkie. Poetry is my baseball. Among literary diversions, it's the game I've played the longest, it's the one I do best - well enough to sometime be asked to play with the big kids, those who do it better, but under no illusions of my skill level. And it's a joy, frequently an electric one, to be around those who do it really well. I know enough of the art to know what it takes to be that good, and I appreciate it as the amateur appreciates the professional. I'm a AAA utility infielder in the big leagues of poetry. I keep the skills sharp where I can and am very, very proud to put on the major league uniform when I have the chance.

On the other hand, when you're working with students - grammar school English classes or adult learners at the local bookstore - and one of them jumps on your simple metaphor assignment and comes up with something excellent, unexpected, that makes you say "wow" under your breath and have to take a minute to respond, you're seeing potential, someone making a connection with poetry, maybe someone who's going to take it seriously for a while. That, too can be an electric moment.

As I watch the Olympics, I can't help but draw the comparison between poetry and water polo - or more generally, poetry and any of the sports that are undeappreciated in my home country but which require great dedication just to become "good". Water polo's eggbeater is poetry's iamb**** - a tool we in the know use to do what we do, invisible to most, but appreciated by some.

I resolve to appreciate more in the next couple of weeks.

* - Avalon Hill's entry into the sport. Worth a look at a game fair.
** - an under-appreciated game from the 70s. Bobby Murcer fans take note.
*** - water polo is the former, in case that wasn't obvious.
**** - dactyl? enjambment? insert your favorite tool here.