On Tuesday night, I got back to my room in Rieber Vista from the Daily Bruin office at around 7:15 p.m.
I had just finished an hour of exit polling, and as soon as I dropped myself into my chair, it was election time.
The 30-plus-inch TV in my room, as in most rooms, was stuck on election coverage from that point onward. For the next four hours I was inundated with amazing flash graphics that peaked when I saw a Star Wars-like hologram of Will.i.am.
Like a lot of students here, I watched as states changed colors, and waited as a huge clock ticked toward 8 p.m. ““ when the polls closed on the West Coast.
Then, I watched as TV stations declared that Barack Obama would be the 44th president of the United States.
I relished the historic moment as his face emerged victorious onto the screen. I watched people cry and felt myself cry.
I listened to a gracious speech from Senator John McCain and could only dab my eyes as I soaked in Obama’s oration.
I was caught up.
I was tearing up.
I knew I was living through a moment that I would remember for a long time.
And then, as Obama exited the stage, my roommate changed the channel to ESPN.
And I heard Neil Everett ask a question on Sportscenter about Tracy McGrady and how the arrival of Ron Artest will change his defensive responsibilities.
And it was that moment that stood out for me, as much as any other on that historic night.
I know that we’ve heard the sports cliche many times, that certain events really make us realize how unimportant sports are in the larger scheme of things.
I’ve listened as we’ve muttered this after Hurricane Katrina when the Saints game got canceled.
And I’ve listened as we’ve rehashed this when baseball games were suspended because of 9/11.
But for some reason, Tuesday night hit home for me.
Something in my head exploded the moment I heard “Tracy McGrady.” Personally, I was riding one of the most emotionally draining highs of my life. I was deep in the midst of reflection and awe. Time had stopped.
And then: Tracy McGrady’s Rockets’ season preview.
Who the hell cares?
How could any TV station, even my beloved ESPN, be talking about anything but the election at that historic moment?
Who is Tracy McGrady? An overpaid, over-glamorized, muscular male who has made millions because he can flick an orange ball into a 10-foot-high ring at a consistent rate.
And what of the Rockets’ defense? What does it matter? I mean really, why do we care at all? We are spending time talking about a particular facet of a particular team that exists in a league in which 30 teams play for a chance to win a trophy that essentially means nothing.
Why do I watch this irrelevant garbage every morning like it’s the gospel?
Why do I devote hours of my life to thinking about it, writing about it, and reading about it?
Why do I write this column every Thursday? Who the hell am I?
Sports are beautiful in that they speak about conflicts and resolutions. They tell the stories of ordinary and extraordinary people pursuing their passion. They illustrate courage and compassion. They unite and divide us. They transcend.
But then there’s the triviality of it all ““ the Tracy McGrady. The two dichotomous sides to sports seem almost irreconcilable.
I hate that sports ruined my moment on Tuesday. But I’ll probably forget about it by Saturday’s football game.
I guess that’s the essence of sports. At times they speak to and symbolize ideas far higher and more important than themselves. Yet at times they appear so utterly insignificant.
The difference is striking.
It’s not that sports are simply unimportant in the larger scheme of things. Heck, sometimes they represent those “larger things.” It’s just that some of the details shouldn’t matter as much as they do.
On Tuesday night, Tracy McGrady’s defense didn’t matter.
If you were watching Sportscenter on election night then e-mail Stevens at mstevens@media.ucla.edu.