It’s occurred to me that hospital admission forms might want to ask patients, in addition to their religion, if they’re interested in sports. I am, and I think it helped my mental state considerably. My surgery came a few days before Opening Day, which gave me something to look forward to and, when that first pitch came, something to concentrate on other than my sorry condition. (Even if it was thrown by a Yankee.) The Miami Open was also going on during my stay at University of Miami Hospital, and its long, sunlit matches helped me pass the time, especially since the book I’d brought proved too depressing for post-recovery reading. A victory by the team or person you’re rooting for lifts your spirits (thank you, Hubert Hurkacz!), while a defeat is easily forgotten in the more important realm of vitals and test results.
And it’s not only sports fans who benefit from the escapism of sports. Years ago in Philadelphia I visited a friend in the hospital, a writer and critic by the name of Vernon Young. Vernon was an intellectual and, like many intellectuals, had not the least bit of interest in sports. So I was surprised, walking into his room one day, to see the TV tuned to a Phillies game.
“Since when do you like baseball?” I asked Vernon.
"I like precision, and this man” – he nodded to the pitcher - “is very precise.”
