Wanted--Accolades

Pop quiz. What causes a grown man to wear a barrel held on with suspenders and not much else for hours in sub-zero temperatures? Stumped? Try this question. What makes a perfectly respectable businessman paint his face and wear a hat shaped like a wedge of cheese? That’s right ladies—football season is upon us! Time to adjust the Net-Nanny settings before your husband is sucked into fantasy football faster than he can recite Tom Brady’s latest rankings.


I’d love to pretend that the frenzy is limited to men, but I’ve seen moms of student athletes whack each other with their designer purses in the middle of High School games. What is it about sports that quicken pulses and turn us into irrational fanatics willing brave blizzards for hours and spend an entire month’s rent on a pair of tickets so we can watch our favorite players hit heads?

Actually I have a theory on this. It feeds our deep-seeded need for accolades. The fact that we have to live vicariously through our children or our favorite teams is irrelevant. We all want to hear the applause, we all want to experience the highs that come from victory over challenge. Be honest with me here. When was the last time you were the subject of a standing ovation? Heck, when was the last time you heard a heart felt thank-you for a job well done? My guess is that it’s been a while, and for some of us we’ve never had that experience.

Enter football season (or soccer season, or hockey season or fill-in-the-blank) and suddenly you’re standing in a stadium feeling the vibration of applause and the excited energy that can practically blow the roof off the Superdome. It’s a powerful drug with less side effects than the illegal kind. We want to feel good. We want to believe that the underdog can win, and we want to be part of it when that happens. I also think this is why Hollywood releases several sports movies each year—we’re addicted. We want to believe that hard work and determination will end in a shower of applause. And we get chills when the end credits roll over Queen singing, “We are the champions.”

It’s kind of sad that these moments are mostly reserved for elite athletes and Lady Gaga. And, while I recognize that it takes years of work to reach that level, people work incredibly hard for many years in a variety of professions and, while they may get the corner office, or keys to the executive washroom, I’m pretty sure that they never get to run through a banner into an adoring crowd at a prep rally.

I wish I could send a crowd to cheer and whoop for my son’s second grade teacher who finally taught the kid to read. My friend and one-time Daycare provider deserves a tiara, a bouquet of roses and a banner that reads Mrs. Fabulous for all the love she gave my children. I really wish I could send a marching band to perform in my mother’s front yard to thank her for years and years of selfless sacrifice so that I could pursue my dreams. The list is long. If only these women knew how incredible they are. If they only knew how much I want to give them that “We Will Rock You” moment.

I remember a great episode of Designing Women from years ago. The women all agree to accompany a man, who was the ridiculed nerd, to his High School reunion. They want to give him that moment to feel accepted in a way that he’d never had in High School, but his ego swells as people congratulate him on his hot dates and amazing (although fictitious) life. The next day they’re fuming over the disaster that was the reunion party when he comes to apologize. He explains how important that night was to him and how much they gave him by making it happen. Then he presents them with a gift. It’s a music box, but when you open the lid you don’t hear music, you hear applause. Everyone I know needs a box like that—I’ve never found one, but if I did I’d send it to you.