Let's face it. In the grand scheme of things, sports American style, aren't all that important.
To misquote my good friend Rick Blaine, "The problems of grown men playing a child's game don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world."
Five of his sons were in the room, as were a daughter-in-law and an infant granddaughter, a full group that would spend the next week together starting the next day, nearly 24 hours per day, in a hospice care facility. The NFC Championship game was on the hospital television, and while the volume had been kept low for the most part, it was turned up as a replay was analyzed. The camera flashed to San Francisco coach Jim Harbaugh, who clearly disagreed with the replay call on a disputed completed pass.
As his morphine intake increased in a morbid race against his body’s increasing pain, Dad had spent recent days mostly asleep, only waking when his failing body demanded water, or when a nurse would attempt to move him in his bed. However, as it turned out, that replay moment came in the middle of Dad’s last rally, and he had gone as far as to sit up a bit in bed, fully alert, enjoying both the company in his room and the game.
That’s when, despite his voice being mostly a loud whisper by that point, Dad let the 49ers coach have it.
“Shut your mouth, Jim Harbaugh!”
tagged: life, sports, football, NFL, death, family, cancer