The Power of Sports

I learned to love sports on Sunday afternoons, sitting on the floor of the living room at the feet of my father watching black-and-white images of men named Unitas and Matte and Mackey move back and forth across the television screen. I learned that there is no drama like physical drama, that power belongs to the people who interpret the rules, and that it is permissible to yell in the house if the yelling is along of the lines of, “Kill him!” or “You missed the call, ref!”

Most importantly I learned that sports, in its best possible incarnation, is the telling of a story.

In 2019, Cory Carignan was a wide receiver on the Minot State (North Dakota) University football team. The first game of the season was on September 5, for which the Beavers traveled 745 miles to play the University of Minnesota at Duluth.

The Beavers’ sole score came on a kick-off return made by Carignan after he fumbled on the three-yard line. The ball rolled into the end zone and Carignan, chasing the ball, was swarmed by UMD players for what initially appeared to be a certain safety. Somehow, the teenager playing in his first college game managed to break free and run 104 yards for a touchdown.

The video of that play shows up every so often in my social media feed based on an algorithm I do not understand (in a mathematical sense), but absolutely adore (in a magical sense). I could not say how many times I have watched it, how many times I have held my breath watching Cory Carignan outrun his opponents, tiptoe down the sideline, and make it safely into the endzone, but I can say that every time I have done so with goosebumps rising on my arms. Such is the power of sports.

A couple of weeks ago, the video appeared again and, again, I watched it with the same rising emotion, as though the outcome was uncertain, as though I did not know that the tacklers would fall away one by one, as though I did not know that Cory Carignan would cross the goal line and spread his arms in an embrace of the moment that would be relived, at last count, over 71,000 times.

As the video begins, Carignan is the only one in the frame. The fumble, the muff is all that exists for a second or two. The mistake, the error is all we see. We anticipate the catastrophic end as though we are all Beaver fans and we can protect ourselves from disappointment by not believing in miracles. We dare not think of second chances and redemption.

Somehow, Carignan manages to scoop up the wildly bouncing ball and dance around the horde of defenders advancing toward him. As he does, the camera pans out, the screen widens, and we can see that he is not alone. At least five of Carignan’s teammates have made it down the field and are running alongside him, deflecting defenders and creating the alley through which he runs.

By the time he reaches the 50-yard line, most of the others – teammates and defenders – have fallen away, but there are two, two teammates whose names we do not know, who continue to run alongside. Two teammates who escort him all the way home.

What is the story? Initially I would have asserted that Cory Carignan is a reminder that it ain’t over ‘til it’s over or ‘til the final whistle blows or ‘til the fat lady sings. But after further review, as the referees say, I think it is something different.

After watching the video four or five or ten times more, after finding out the touchdown by Cory Carignan (whose name was mispronounced over and over by the broadcaster for the opposing team) was the Beavers’ only score and that the Beavers lost that game 52-7 and that they would go 3 - 8 on the season, I think the story is this: No matter how badly you mess up, how big is your failure, how improbable your redemption, if you will just pick up the ball and keep running, there are people who will run with you and a precious few who will follow you all the way home.

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