Dear Sports,

I know that I’m not one to express my feelings in words, or have my emotions lead me towards tears.  (Except in that last scene in the movie Rudy, when he goes sprinting on to the field at the end).  But last night I found myself staring out the window, lost and empty, wondering if you were ever to return.

Please know that I don’t blame you for walking away.  In fact, the distance between us has allowed me some time to reflect.  The truth is that I never appreciated you like I should have, nor did I give you the attention that you richly deserved.  All those nights I went to bed before the game was over, all those times I left early just to avoid traffic.  I often treated you as just background noise in my own daily conversation, and for that I am sorry.

I know now that I took you for granted.  All those games, all those channels, all those seasons.  I simply rationalized that if I neglected you today, there was always tomorrow to make up for my sins.  And I was wrong.  If it means anything, all those times when I was with my family, watching Netflix, or celebrating holidays at my in-law’s house…I was thinking of you.

I thought I might be able to get over you by moving on to someone else.  CBS played old classics from previous March Madness games, ESPN showed re-runs of all the great fights, and social media tried to entertain with highlights of what once was, but it wasn’t the same.  It was like watching a movie in which you already knew the ending, or reading a book after peeking at the final chapters.  It wasn’t you.

I know our relationship hasn’t been perfect and we’ve had some turbulent times. But I’ve been hurt too you know.  That Hail Mary pass from Flacco at Mile High back in 2012, last season with the Rockies—and who could forget Super Bowl XLVII? That day, when Seattle beat Denver 43-8, I swore I’d give you up forever.

But last night I dreamt about you. Like a temptress from across the room, there you stood.  Your beauty so vivid, your face so pure that I just sat there from a distance soaking in your every moment.  When I reached for you, like a vision in the darkness, you were gone. I softly wiped a tear from my cheek.

I know it may be too late for these words that I’m sure you’ve been waiting to hear.  But I can change.  If you come back, I will do everything in my power to give you all my time, all my passion, and promise to never take you for granted again.  If that means staying up past midnight, ordering extra nacho dip, or being at your side for 162 games in a season, I will do whatever it takes.

This distance between us has enlightened me to the fact that I have serious commitment issues.  Well, that was the old me.  If you return, my commitment will be unquestioned.  I will give you everything I have to give, every minute, every breath.

The word love is one that I struggle to say, and one that I don’t use without true meaning.  But I love you.  And I miss you. I long for that day that I can see you again, gaze into your eyes, taste your lips (metaphorically speaking), and snuggle up on the couch like we did before.

But for now, I shall stare out that window thinking of ways to fill my empty heart, and my endless days, waiting upon your return.

Images via globalgrind.com, demibooks.com, stageagent.com, poundrider.com

Alan Tapley The Athletic Supporter

Alan Tapley is an educator, author, and blogger who has lived just outside of Boulder for the last twenty years.  His published work includes two novels, two children’s books, a series of cartoons in the Minneapolis Star-Tribune, and multiple sports related articles. His love for family and the state of Colorado is only matched by one thing, his passion for sports.  The first baseball game he ever attended was at Wrigley Field, before there were lights.  At the final Bronco game at the old Mile High, he allegedly cut out a piece of his seat in the South stands.  But regardless of being here for the Avalanche’s last Stanley Cup, the Rockies only World Series appearance, and all the Broncos’ Super Bowl Victories, his wife never fails to remind him that he wasn’t at the University of Colorado in 1990, like she was.  The year the Buffs football team won the National Championship