By Kaitlin Kindman, LCSW

10.10.19

Soooo...about last night. 

Let’s talk about SPORTS ⚾️ 🏀 for a second (something I never thought I’d say). I have never been into sports. And quite frankly, have passed my fair share of judgment. Four seasons ago, I started entertaining the idea of cozying up to the Dodgers, as an act of care and love for this cute guy I started dating (you know him as the handsome, Paul). Over the last four years we’ve gone to many games-including two World Series and I fell in love. With this beautiful, empathic man AND with his team. 

I used to care about the outcome of the game because it impacted this person i love so much, but this year i became personally invested, the Dodgers became “my team.” I know almost all of the players on the teams names (it happened by accident, I swear!). I surprised myself when a client asked me “who’s pitching tonight?” and i somehow knew the answer. So needless to say, I cared about what happened last night. 

Now let’s talk about COMMUNITY. Part of what has helped me to fall in love with this team is the feeling of being in a stadium full of people “in it together”. The shared moments of triumphant celebration, the gasps and sighs, the collective holding of our breath. These are the moments that make us feel profoundly connected to strangers. At a baseball game, it’s not weird to ask for a high five from everyone around you and some people might even give you a hug!

Last night in a moment of collective breath-holding, the woman seated next to me buried her head, too afraid to watch. In detail, I described to her what was happening; I watched for her. I was with her. 

I used to be so turned off and confused by hearing people (former partners!) say: “we won!” or“we got this!,” or my favorite, “did you see that play we just made?” “Like, really Jake? Did YOU just steal that ball and score a 3-pointer?!”  Now I see that something very human happens at a sporting event, something I couldn’t see before, blinded by my discomfort with competition and yelling, drunk men. A camaraderie that tells us we ARE all in this together (sorry for my earlier judgment, Jake). Today I’m convinced of this by the repetitive pain nagging at my shoulder from the emotional roller coaster ride I went on with 56,000 other stadium-goers last night. 

When we got home, I struggled to watch him at the press conference, head darting back and forth as he spoke-nervous system on fire-as if scanning for immediate threat. THIS is the havoc that shame so mercilessly wrecks on our bodies.

And finally, about THAT moment. Kershaw made an important save and then threw TWO pitches in the next inning and we were in a completely different game. The whole stadium went immediately silent; My spine prickled. I looked at Paul and we both had tears in our eyes. Maybe a tiny bit because we sensed there might not be any coming back from this, but mostly because that silence was deafening and my heart ached. 

Of course, the person who thought the game was done the most, was likely Clayton Kershaw. I felt the sterile heaviness of him thinking he alone had let down each and every one of us; his clubhouse; AND all the folks watching at home. I told Paul we should gift him our dog for comfort; If anyone needed to be a sacrificial lamb here, our beloved Weezie would be it. 

When we got home, I struggled to watch him at the press conference, head darting back and forth as he spoke-nervous system on fire-as if scanning for immediate threat. THIS is the havoc that shame so mercilessly wrecks on our bodies. I responded by immediately feeling the heat in my face and punch to my gut of moments I’m convinced I’ve let down my community and knowing how quickly I can spiral into shame. I literally, cannot imagine what that must feel like on such a bigger scale. Just trying to do so brings tears to my eyes. 

This, my friends, is the power of empathy. And empathy and lasting community are the antidotes to shame. In a moment of complete and total vulnerability and “I-f*cked-up”-ness, we need our community to feel into our suffering and let us know we are not alone. The fear of losing our community-of letting our people down-is at the heart of shame. 

After THAT moment, everyone in the stadium became a team manager (for a moment, myself included) and spouted opinions about the choices that were made that might have contributed to defeat, and that “the right call was...” But being part of a community means avoiding turning on each other when times are hard and we don’t like the outcome. Instead, choosing to stand by each other and recommitting to be in it together. THIS is what makes us resilient. 

Dodger fans, I’m proud to be one of you now. I’m with you. Join me in saying: “Dave Roberts, I’m with you.” “Clayton Kershaw, I’m with you.” “Dodgers, I’m with you.”

As Jake says, “WE GOT THIS.”