THANK WHO?

I tweeted yesterday on Thanksgiving

“Most pro athletes are thankful for their physical gifts. Why are so many thankful athletes arrogant as if they have no one to thank?”

I thought to myself, “Self, does thankfulness count if it doesn’t have an object?And I said to myself that it seems illogical that one could genuinely be in a state of gratitude without an object of such gratitude. In other words, try as I may, I can’t think of giving thanks without directing my appreciation in a direction. And I realize that it is as common as breathing to say we’re thankful for this and that, to proverbially mutter “Thank God” when what we really mean is “I got lucky right there.”

ESPN was running down the worst athlete of 2010 and stopped on Tiger Woods. They had the nerve to ask if he was working on himself and not just his golf game. It was a rare spot that superficially delved into the character realm amidst the highlights and electrified footage from a day’s work compiling excitable moments from the day in sports. Woods is in a tough place but not so much because of his scrutiny or divorce. He’s in a crucible along with all professional athletes worldwide. That crucible is heated  by the myth that you don’t need to be thankful, but rather more brazen. When an athlete suffers public defeat or humiliation, his/her fight or flight mechanism is usually triggered by the pundits who began their onslaught via radio, TV and web. I don’t know about you but it’d be pretty hard to thank God for my health after a title bout if the media immediately began airing my demise over and over again.  I’d be thinking, “I’m fixing this situation as soon as I can. We start training camp tomorrow.” Public figures want to remain valuable to consumers. This has to be why transformation of character is so difficult. If I say I’m thankful and I simply mean, “I’m blessed or lucky or fortunate…” part of that sounds like I’m happy to have been given my talent but indebted to no one. Contrarily, to look someone or something in the eyes and offer a thank you is a step of maturity that rescues you from the island of self-worship. There’s no worse place than to be lost among conditional accolades and people who adore you for an ability rather than your personhood.  I could list names for thirty minutes straight of people who helped me become who I am today and it’d be a painful half-hour because I feel I owe them what I could never repay. And that is humbling. When there’s a person on the end of thanks, you’re instantly never the same.