I didn’t go South Africa.. I’m crushed, felled by the flu, the nasty one that has closed whole counties’ school systems here in Tennessee, with a totally gross sinus infection on top of it to make me even more miserable as I watch the hour go by during which I was to be with my gorgeous hero, President Mandela, having tea in his home, hosting a dinner with him and in general becoming his new best friend and favorite person in the world. To quote Big Daddy from “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” CRAP.
Oh well. Things happen for a reason and I’ll surrender my heart without disappointment remembering that it’s better for my health (and his, for crying out loud, he’s 87 and doesn’t need my flu), and trust that God will find other wonderful ways to allow me to be of service, which is such an exciting new joy in my life. And, I suppose, if I were that kind of person, I could think it was all meant to be in order to make me available to attend a certain ballgame in Indianapolis on Saturday.
I am available, aren’t I?
Tournament time, once a glorious moment that refracted my total freedom through the prism of Kentucky’s greatness, used to see me running around the country following my team with neither cares nor constraints. Nothing could keep me away from Dallas, San Jose, Minneapolis, St. Louis, St. Pete, St. Antonio, Indianapolis, and the Meadowlands, to name just a few of the places where I’ve seen the Cats dance in the Madness. But then, one day in 1999, as one might say over yonder in Boyd County, I got me a husband. Oh dear.
Now, that’s a good “oh dear,” because he’s fine, he’s brilliant, he’s Scottish, he loves animals, he’s tender hearted, and he reads more than I do. But, it’s also a very complicated “Oh dear,” because he likes to drive his race car really fast (really, really fast) on weekends. In March. And he likes for me to be there. On weekends. In March.
Oh dear.
Dario’s first race of the season coincided with the last ballgame of the regular season. His first race was in Florida. Said ballgame was in Florida. Green flag: 2p.m. Tip off: Noon. God was smiling on me. I could hitch a ride on a private plane that was already going to the game, and get back over to the track in time for the checkered flag, shew doggie, and act all relaxed walking up pit lane like I’d been there for hours. Then I found out that CBS, not God, is in fact boss, and tip off was pushed…to 2 o’clock. Sigh. My mother has always tried to tell me that choices are sacred, but that kind of choice is diabolical for a girl like me. How do I choose between my Cats and my husband, for crying out loud? But time and again, I’ve had to choose, and time and again, I’ve chosen him. Over them. Hard to believe, and quite painful, but true.
Our next game is yet another case in point. Technically, I could be in Indianapolis, seeing as how it’s on a Saturday, and I could fly in and out of Phoenix for Dario’s race, which is Sunday. But I have to think about how sick I’ve been, and that during that time I’ve flown no fewer than 7 times (with the flu!!!) and whether or not that is smart. And I have to consider that I return to filming soon, during which time I will spend a miniscule amount of time at home, and none at races, and that maybe it means something to him to have me there when I physically can be.
It’s the burden of queens, isn’t it? To love a sweet boy with a special, unusual career and to love a team that perennially grows special seasons? To cherish every moment on the track, proud and beaming as my husband goes about the unique business of the fabulously gifted, and to cry at the start of every game in Rupp Arena? To watch a race, learning with each lap about the depth of Dario’s talent, courage, and grace, and to watch awkward young men come in like young thoroughbreds, frisky but barely aware of their true potential, and follow them for 4 years (well, most of them anyhow) as they come into their power? To celebrate good days on the track and moan over the bad, to feel elated (mmm, okay, sometimes smug) by wins and think the dynasty hangs on single a loss…all this thrall, joy, pride, history, and belonging, all for me., all in one life.
If I don’t make it on Saturday, I’ll have my speaker system on Dario’s bus at the track for the radio/internet broadcast, which I am able to synchronize exactly with the tv picture thanks to tivo. I will wear my t shirt, hold my pompom (our house cats love that part of our day), and in spite of the terribly modern set up, imagine I am like my Papaws listening to Cawood Ledford call the game. You see, it’s not that I love my Cats any less, because, oh, love them I do; it’s that I now have so much more in my life to love.