When I woke up on the morning of September 11, 2001 my mother was the first to inform me that a plane had struck the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City as I was walking downstairs to grab a bowl of cereal. My response was a rather nonchalant “OK,” as in my head I thought she was talking about a small Cessna. When I sat down and turned on the television I never could have imagined the sight that lay out before my eyes when the reality set in that it was in fact a commercial aircraft that had senselessly been flown into the side of the building, killing dozens at first.
Less than a half hour later on live TV, the second plane struck the South Tower. I yelled up to my mother to come downstairs and see what had just happened and we both just looked upon in horror. By the end of the day two more planes had gone down, one went into the side of the Pentagon and the other into a field in rural Pennsylvania. Close to 3,000 lives were taken, including those of the assailants who caused the devastation. Everything from that day forward was put on hold.
Anything with any kind of an entertainment value just didn’t seem to matter over the next few days. Our country’s safety had been breached, and there was little-to-nothing that any of us could do about it except pray for the survival of those who had fallen and give thanks to those who responded without hesitation as the carnage unfolded. I was 18-years-old at the time, working in a sports store in Vancouver, Washington. The days moved by slowly after the malls had opened back up as no one seemed to be in the mood to do anything except stay at home and keep themselves protected until better news came out. Little by little it did. Candlelight vigils were held, chants of “USA! USA! USA!” were heard across all forms of media after then president George W. Bush visited Ground Zero to give praise and thanks to those who volunteered their time to pick up the pieces.
Finally, on September 17, things started to slowly come back together.
It would be a game at Busch Stadium featuring the St. Louis Cardinals taking on the Milwaukee Brewers that would kick off the re-start of sports. Many critics questioned the decision to bring back something so trivial, but it was sports that helped this country find its footing and come together as one. Family, friends and fans alike put their differences aside to embrace one another, and get back to the one thing that makes us all feel truly honored to be a part of the American fabric.
For more than a century sports have been the outlet for our passions. Whether we cheer on the local team or root against our rival, sports have been the conduit for our communities, for our deepest emotions and for our country. In the wake of the attack on September 11, the Mets were the first New York-based team to get back to work. Whether any of us were fans of the Mets or not, we watched and became inspired as a symbol of the city took to the field to help everyone through the healing process.
Soon after the National Football League started their games back up, but not until paying tribute, like every other team, to the men and women affected by the attacks. It had been well over 11 years since the days when sports helped save this country, and until this last week in Boston very few thought that anything so catastrophic would ever happen again.
I never visited New York City until this last summer as one of the nine participants for the MLB Fan Cave. For years after the attacks on September 11th took place I never felt anything extremely emotional as no one I knew was hurt or involved on that date. That’s not to say I didn’t care, but it was difficult to get an understanding on how the event made me feel considering the fact that I had never seen the Twin Towers when they were standing; therefore, it all seemed way too surreal that it had ever happened.
During the first week we were there most of us had decided to go to Ground Zero as we felt it was an important site to visit as we were all lucky enough to call New York our home for next few months. As we walked through the security checkpoints a churning sensation crept into my stomach, almost similar to the time when I visited the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. We chatted with a few of the police officers on duty, some of which who had friends who lost theirs lives on that day. When we made it through the final checkpoint we all remained quiet until we left. Seeing the names engraved on the memorial as the waterfalls trickled down inside chilled me to the bone. All the sadness I never understood or felt in the years that preceded all came rushing out.
Last week in Boston was a tough pill to swallow. A few of my friends in the media were at or near the finish line for the Boston Marathon when the bombs went off, killing three and injuring dozens. Anyone watching the events and the aftermath I’m sure couldn’t help but think back to the attacks in New York, wondering if this was just the start of something on a larger scale. Like New York, everything in the city shut down after that. Safety and survival were the only things that mattered until the right questions were answered.
Last summer I had the opportunity to catch a few Boston Red Sox games as well as a concert by Bruce Springsteen at Fenway Park. For years I had heard how rough Red Sox fans could be to opposing fans and players, but to be honest, the people I met and interacted with were some of the greatest group of folks I could have ever shared my experience with. We laughed, we cheered, we talked smack and we went out for drinks afterward; all the while walking up and down Yawkey Way before making our way over to Boylston Street. As bad as a wrap as that city gets, I was truly devastated that such an atrocious act could happen to such wonderful people during a time of happiness.
The Red Sox were on the road; however, the Boston Bruins were playing at home against the Buffalo Sabers on Wednesday, April 17 when sports restarted. Before the game the Bruins honored the responders from the Marathon and asked the fans to join Rene Rancourt in the singing of the Star Spangled Banner; the moment made ESPN Sportcenter’s Top-10 list at number one for the night.
On Saturday, April 20th, the day after the last remaining Marathon bomber was captured; the Red Sox opened their doors to the Fenway faithful and to the fine members of the Boston and Watertown police force who brought the assailants to justice. Of the many people in attendance to be honored, two of the most impactful on the community was Team Hoyt (Rick and Dick) a father and son tandem who have participated in over 1,000 endurance races including the Ironman Triathlon and the Boston Marathon for over 30 years. The Red Sox also asked David Ortiz, the longest tenured member and most popular member of the team, to say a few words before the game.
“This jersey, that we wear today, it doesn’t say Red Sox. It says Boston.” “This is our f---ing city! And nobody is going to dictate out freedom. Stay strong.”
As the crowd roared the sentiment was felt throughout the country. Ortiz, born in the Dominican Republic, didn’t have to say those words, but he felt he owed it to the city for believing in him. Sports, and especially sports figures, help lift our spirits when we’re down. They help us come together as a community. And most important, they help us remember that we will always rise from the ashes and come back stronger, more united than before. Without sports I honestly don’t think we would be able to channel our emotions appropriately with one another. Sometimes we need outlets to move on. Sports will hopefully always be there for us, just as we’ve been there for them.