An Ode to Playing Forever

Triple overtime, endless penalty kicks, eighteen innings.

Watching a game that goes past its usual timeframe can be both thrilling and exhausting. This is especially true when there’s a lot on the line. While I didn’t stay up to see the end of the World Series Game 4 marathon between the Blue Jays and Dodgers, I have vague memories of being eight years old and bouncing on the couch watching the Mets slug it out in sixteen innings against the Astros in the 1986 playoffs (though I probably didn’t make it to the end of that one either).

When so much hangs in the balance – when one little mistake can mean everything – the tension can be almost unbearable for fans. And although I’ve never been involved in anything too high-stakes myself, other than some next-point-wins driveway basketball games, I can imagine that the anxiety players feel must be palpable.

When the camera pans to the dugout or sideline, inevitably you see nervous and worried faces – that is if you can see faces at all, as often they’re buried in a hat or hands. Chatter is at a minimum. Arms may be linked. Eyes might drift skyward hoping, praying, for a score, a stop, a miracle. Instead of Gatorade, there should just be big dispensers of Pepto-Bismol.

And yet…I kind of think players love it.

When you’re a kid, you never want games to end. It doesn’t matter what you’re playing; if you are with your friends and there’s enough daylight to see the ball/hoop/plate, you’ll gladly just keep going. Even when visibility is dangerously low, why would you want to stop?

I remember pickup basketball games in the park that ended long past when the sun went down (and after the park was technically closed), when we had to rely on the light poles in the parking lot to illuminate the court, which of course were not bright enough to avoid getting hit in the face with a pass.

Growing up, we had a dilapidated tennis court in our backyard and I remember playing a new type of game devised by my friend Frank and me (we found normal tennis to be too dull) for hours and hours, and I recall thinking if only the ball, lines, and net were covered in glow-in-the-dark paint, we could play all night.

I remember playing ping-pong on the old shaky table (another thing that came with the house) in our dank basement and the “win by two” edict forcing games to go on and on.

I remember hustling out to the baseball field during recess in the fourth grade to cram in as much game as we could. I don’t know how long recess was (it always felt long), but if things were brisk, we could fit in three innings, and we’d only reluctantly quit when the bell rang or – more often – a teacher told us we had to come inside. These games were of course just for fun, but one day I distinctly remember yelling the f-word at a classmate on the other team named Matt Stake (who then immediately levied it back at me) for some reason or another.

This is why, as much as players may look like they’re in pain during nerve-wracking games, I really believe that they cherish it. I think this is also why players keep playing for as long as they do.

Guys like Barry Sanders and Andrew Luck are few and far between. Sports history is riddled with pros who stayed too long, who – even when it was obvious that their best days were way behind them – decided to keep going. And while money is often a factor, it can’t be the only reason.

Why else would a player like Tom Brady, after 20 years with the Patriots, after six championships, after being declared the GOAT by many, (and after getting pummeled a countless number of times), decide to join the Buccaneers? Why would he then announce his retirement after two seasons with the Bucs only to decide to come back six weeks later? Why would Lebron James – also in GOAT territory, also with decades of permanent wear and tear on his body – keep lacing up his Nikes?

Maybe the question shouldn’t be why, but why not? If you had the chance to do it all over again, wouldn’t you stay out there a little longer? Fit in one more inning? One more possession? One more shot? I know I would.