Since 1967, I have had a steady companion, one I have looked forward to sharing time with practically every week. Beginning today, however, that relationship is undergoing a transition, a divorce.
For my birthday way back in 1967, my grandpa Hagarman introduced me to my first copy of Sports Illustrated (SI), buying me a one-year subscription. Knowing how much I loved sports and reading, he truly had given me the perfect gift. As attested by my devotion, I have never broken my loyalty, and I certainly do not intend to do that now. However, here is where the dilemma begins: I have kept all those issues all these years, filling boxes, crates, and plastic containers that simply occupy too much space. My wife has been after me for years to make a decision about what to do with them, but I--in my procrastinating fashion--have delayed the inevitable. No more--the purging has begun.
Strange as it may sound, it saddens me to be going through all these past issues and preparing to discard them. As indicated, I have loved the magazine for so long due to the writers' command of the language, their vivid imagery, and their insightful observations. Combined with such sharp photography and humorous columnists, this magazine has been a pleasure to watch mature into the publication it is today. I can easily attest that my writing has been heavily influenced by the sentence and word combinations that I have been exposed to over the years; in short, I have become an effective writer because I have been enthralled by the written word ever since I was a young kid reading my SI. As the years wore on, I so looked forward to the writings of Frank Deford, Rick Reilly, Curry Kirkpatrick, Jack McCallum, and many others--they were my teachers in so many ways simply because I tried to envision what they were thinking while they were splicing their words and sentences together. Getting "inside" their heads was such a valuable lesson for me--I visualized them seated in front of their typewriters/computers, trying to see the faces of their readers while composing a manuscript that would provoke the exact emotion the writers desired. As a result, I became entranced with words and writing, something, fortunately, that still strongly lives within me.
As I am reviewing my collection, I am smiling so many times as I see the covers reflecting my various sports heroes at careers' beginnings and endings; I see the innocence of youth and the despair of death; I see the wide gamut of sports, the proverbial goods, bads, and the uglies; I see the in-depth analyses of modern-day sports reflecting the transition of so many sports into businesses; I see the hurting faces following tragedies. Most of all, however, I see my youth. I see me as a kid, ripping open the mail every Thursday afternoon when the magazine was delivered, waiting to see what was in that particular issue. I grew up with that magazine, and like a loyal friend, I have learned so much along the way. I learned Mickey Mantle was basically a jerk, but I also learned that his actions in the '60s were pretty lame compared to the hijinks of the modern athlete. I learned that the sports world is full of so many colorful and unsavory characters whose selfishness became so obvious. I learned about the violence of certain sports yet the lure that keeps drawing me in today. Hell, I even learned a little about sex and its attraction--I will never forget a picture showing a barmaid in New Orleans serving drinks while carrying them on her rather sizable breasts at a Super Bowl party. Along that same line, the yearly SI Swimsuit edition remains an eye-catcher. . . and, hopefully, always will! Like vivid memories, I am finding it quite difficult to shed my friends.
Like selling a puppy, my goal is to place my magazines "in a good home." To me, the recycle container is not the home I desire. I have researched selling them, but because my name is either on a sticker or is ingrained on the cover, I have been assured that their value as a collection is not what I had hoped. Therefore, the dilemma is obvious, but I have arrived at solutions: I am dispersing issues to friends and family that reflect the week they were born, a gift that I consider somewhat unique; I am saving certain covers with the hope of framing tributes to athletes I have respected for many years (Pete Rose, Larry Bird, Muhammad Ali); after the aforementioned have been done, I will then gradually toss them into the recycle container a year at a time. I mention this because now is the time to contact me if anyone desires a particular issue. Remember this, though: Treasure it as something special, just as I have done for all these years.
I conclude with a story that still means much to me today: Years ago, my good friends Todd and Peggy Bonvechio, knowing the importance of my collection, purchased at an auction the original edition of SI. In Peggy's words, "I told the guy I was bidding against that he wasn't getting it--I'm going higher than you!" Obviously, she won the bid and presented the magazine to me. No, I am not selling that one, but I treasure it--I remain indebted to the Bonvechios for buying that for me.
So, today, I begin the purging, slicing off a little bit of my history . . . but I am doing it with a smile and a frown . . . it's been an enjoyable ride!
