Major league athletes; they play their hearts out, they play a game they truly love, they give it their all, their one-hundred-and-fifty-percent day in and day out. Right?
I can no longer respect the modern day athlete.
Back in the days when Communism was public enemy number one, when tales of hockey games were spun over the radio, basketball was in its infancy and baseball was already firmly entrenched as "America's sport", you could find people idolizing athletes.
Today, we have lower standards of what we consider idolization. Knowing a player's birth date, what team he belongs to; knowing how many goals he scored, home runs he hit, his points per game; following most of his or her team's games. Somewhere along the line, that became the definition of worship. But, as anyone over the age of 70 would be more than willing to tell you, things were different back then.
I take you back to the small villages that interspersed themselves around Quebec. The height of one of the Montreal Canadiens' many dynasties, Quebec was in love. Children didn't play hockey as a hobby, but as a part of life that they adored. These are the days of Maurice Richard. These are the days when the Rocket would lead Les Glorieux to win after win after win, and when all the family members would scarf down dinners and listen to their team on their radios in awe.
These are the days when you could find real athletes that someone could be proud of. Days where you could find athletes that played the game, whatever "the game" may be, for what it is- a game. One they played not because they had to, but because they wanted to. The days of Babe Ruth, the baseball legend who shattered so...