Recap
I thought 11:30 might have been too early. The point, I figured, was to lock down close enough to tip that I could be so consumed in my work that I would just miss the game. But instead I arrived at my library study carrel just before noon, not sure if I had five hours of work. (Or, I guess I figured I did, but did I really want to work for five consecutive hours? On a Sunday? Even if I had to?)
Google Docs says I made my last major edits on my research paper draft at 1:50, almost an hour before the game started. I sighed, cursed when I saw the time. I couldn't go home. So I dove into my next project, hoping this one might fill the void.
*
For all our sakes, I'll stop being vague... at least a little bit. The night of the 2019 NCAA women's basketball national championship game, I was in the hospital. It was a culmination of things, depression and work stress, and I knew I'd be out of commission from most things Life for the next week or so. There, in the emergency room, I opened up Slack to tell my editor at the sports site I wrote for that I'd have to take myself off the schedule.
I saved our whole chat history before I left that job because I knew I'd need it so the right people might believe me. But even four years later, I can't quote it here. Like, I know exactly where the folder is with all those screenshots, but to open it would mean re-traumatizing myself — choosing to re-traumatize myself. I may not have addressed this in therapy yet, but I still know how not to go out of my way to make my life worse.
I haven't watched a national championship game since.
*
"Even if it's your team?" God, especially if it's my team.
*
Also, let's say "your team" is great, you're a big fan of their vibes, they've even got a star player you're into. And you still can't go to a game, especially a game against certain teams, without feeling unwelcome.
Let's say it's not just "your team." Let's say it's your whole state. Let's say you've been to women's basketball home games at three of the four Division I schools in your state and at almost all of them you've heard racial slurs, racist chants, heckling that feels a little too personal. Let's say you see arena staff nearby, since you like to sit near the front and that's where they happen to post up, and they're smiling. The fans around you are calling the six-foot-seven Black center on the other team unspeakable things, both about her race and about whatever other bigotry they've decided to bring to the game, and you know that staff member hears it, and you see them letting it happen. Maybe if those fans threw something onto the court, they'd give them a warning, a look that says, "Don't make me do my job." But it never escalates past what they can ignore.
Let's say you watch a game on TV, then, and you know it's happening there, too, and you know a good number of people on the other side of the screen are choosing not to notice. And your life gets worse just imagining this inalienable truth, because you just can't put yourself through that again.
*
I read a tweet once that said listening to a podcast was the closest thing to believing in ghosts. If the hosts get a fact wrong, or if they're trying to remember a piece of trivia that you know, you can't help them. The moment is over.
I wonder a lot if the moment is over. I've moved on to a new state. I'm three-and-a-half years removed from professionally associating with that editor. But something's still not right on my end, because on days like today, these moments are all I can think about. I want nothing more for them to disappear like ghosts, but instead they haunt me, remind me that no matter how vulnerable I feel, there's always someone ready to make it worse. I wonder a lot if I can still help myself.
*
Tomorrow. Let's just make it to tomorrow.