Imagined Stakes and Real Emotion: My Bizarre Journey from Theater Kid to Avid Sports Fan

You can imagine that the last person to ever forget about a rehearsal would be the stage manager. Typically, they are the ones, five minutes into rehearsal, shrinking into a corner calling missing actors who have yet to wander into rehearsal past their call time. As a stage manager, I never thought I would be on the other end of that call.

Long story short, the calendar had been created and shared by my Director/Professor, and it was my job to enforce that calendar starting with the first rehearsal. Convinced I hadn’t yet received this calendar, I was left wondering, “Wow, I am surprised we haven’t started rehearsals yet.” That confusion was immediately erased when I received a voicemail from my Professor, checking-in, since I wasn’t at our first rehearsal of the production. Luckily, I had built up enough of a Type-A, never-skipped-class-in-four-years-of-undergrad reputation that they thought it was more likely that I had dematerialized or been mortally wounded than simply missed rehearsal. The next day, with my head hanging low, I sadly walked into my professors office with absolute guilt. How was I supposed to enforce punctuality after I just missed our first rehearsal? As a 19-year old stage manager, I struggled enough with actors taking me seriously, this would make that problem permanently unsolvable. Then, he told me words that have stuck with me ever since. The words that have formed my artistic philosophy, the words that explain why I love that I cry with every moment of both joy and sadness, and the words that explain why I suddenly became a sports fan in my late twenties.

After he explained that he was just glad I was alright (just lay the guilt on me, why don’t you!?!?), he said, “that’s why we come to the theater. To cheer for people’s success and cry at their failures.” 

LORD. If that isn’t a metaphor for what it is like having an enlightened artist as a professor. He couldn’t just reprimand me or dock my grade. He had to change my entire worldview. Figures. 

Since that day, I handled my failures better - not perfectly, I still beat myself up over little things. A few years later, I became a cryer - at EVERYTHING. This notion helped me embrace that. I love that I feel passionately. I also became an even harsher (but healthy) cynic of theater - these stakes may be completely erased at the end of 120 minutes, but I am here to cry and cheer for real, dammit. I don’t take that lightly. 

Finally, how does all this relate to sports? I always thought I wasn’t a sports fan other than casually watching the NFL. This is odd considering I am incredibly, sometimes intensely, competitive. Neither my high school or college had extensive sports programs, and when I started working at Northwestern, I was finally exposed to easily-accessible, competitive athletics for the first time. While here, I went from watching my first full-length, in-person basketball game to watching the WNBA draft in a matter of two seasons. I was baffled - what changed? Why am I suddenly an avid sports fan of multiple teams, some of which I just now have the opportunity to watch for the first time, after 20+ years of believing that wasn’t possible? 

The answer: stakes. Aside from the fact that thousands of peoples’ jobs are at play, the stakes of sports are completely fake. We collectively agree upon the rules and other parameters to create the environment in which we cheer at our team’s successes and cry at their failures. All I needed was the missing element - the personal buy-in common in theater, to feel that same connection. Working at Northwestern gave me that connection, and the next thing I knew I was hooked. Northwestern introduced me to many sports I otherwise never had the opportunity to see in-person. Tomorrow night, I will watch the first group of first-years I watched as a fan play their last home game of the season at Martin Stadium. After 90 minutes, everyone, including the players, will move on with their lives. The stakes of fouls and offsides will be a thing of the past. It doesn’t matter. I am looking forward to the 90 minute suspension of disbelief - cheering and crying for my first favorite team’s last home game.