The Question of Beloved

Beloved is an interesting word. I'm thinking a thing has to be around for twenty years or so before it can achieve beloved status. I mean you can't have beloved socks, but an old, comfortable robe might qualify.

It was fun sitting around listening to my beloved Denver Broncos whipping up on The Titans last night even if the players were different than the ones I was beloving twenty years ago. I miss watching all the games on television, but listening to them on my computer is a decent second choice. It reminds me of "back in the day" before television, when I listened to just about everything except whatever my parents were trying to tell me. Something about paying attention, I think. That was radio, of course, and in retrospect, it was every bit as beloved as television. Who doesn't remember crowding around the old Philco to listen to "Inner Sanctum" or "The Great Gildersleeve?" Yeah, I know, everybody younger than the pyramids. It was somehow more engaging when it was necessary to let your mind and imagination fill in the visuals. Paying attention -who said that?- was vital to keeping up with the story...or the game.
Last night I tuned in, attentively, as Dave Logan, a former Bronco, gave his listeners down and distance and a nice portrayal of what he was seeing on the field. Give the guy another twenty years or so and he might attain beloved announcer status.

And speaking of beloved, sports and back in the day - I was speaking of those things wasn't I? I'm not really sure myself, I wasn't paying attention. I was trying to remember what my parents told me years ago - I wonder how sports figures achieve beloved status? It can't be just winning. Arnold Palmer won and is beloved. Jack Nicklaus won far more and is not. Michael Jordon is admired, but not particularly beloved. People flat gush overMuhammed Ali these days, but nobody wants to cuddle with Evander Holyfield, a four time champion. Then there is Tiger Woods who usually beats Phil Mickelson like a drum, but it's Phil who gets beloved status. And, back in the day, Joe Dimaggio was beloved and Ted Williams was, apart from Boston fans, not well liked. Of course that may be because Joe never flipped off the crowd. I think the telling factor, along with being a winner, is likableness. If you aren't likable, you aren't going to be beloved. Barry Bonds, for instance, has no shot, while in Boston, Johnny Damon gets cheered by the crowd even when he returns in a Yankee uniform. Johnny's likable, Barry's not.

So, having solved that conundrum, a word I have never used before and will now look up in my Funk and Wagnalls, a reference only my fellow pyramid builders will get, I will now go watch my beloved PGA golf tournament on television. Why? Because golf sucks on radio.