“Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I am very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that.”

Bill Shankly

I took my son James to the Lions-Packers Thursday night last week, and I’m still processing the experience. It was my first game in the Dan Cannibal era and James’ first game ever. I fell into tickets the day before, so there was not much time to build anticipation.

It didn’t matter.

First, this was an instant classic for James’ memory bank. He was completely dialed in from the time we left Ann Arbor at 5 p.m. until 1 a.m., when he finally passed out in the back seat, eyes glazed over in front of my phone, watching the replay. There were a lot of firsts for James that night: his first NFL game; his first experience in downtown Detroit in which 90% of its inhabitants were intoxicated; his first bottomless Sprite after 10 p.m.; and his first time peeing in a parking garage.

The smile on his face never left, whether he was reaching for the 3rd down sign on big Lions defensive stands, double-fisting $12 popcorn, or high-fiving the drunk strangers next to us. The noise, the music, the pyrotechnics, the spectacle of it all had him utterly mesmerized, right up until the game-winning kick.

To make it even sweeter, this was a one-on-one. He didn’t have to fight for popcorn or Sprite or my attention with his older brother, who was disqualified from attending thanks to his refusal to miss swim practice. Otherwise, it may have been a cage match to the death.

On the ride home, James said, unprompted, “Dad, this was the best day of my life.”

For my part, there was a twenty-year stretch where, with a few exceptions, I avoided live sporting events. I preferred my own bathroom, my own food, instant replay, comfortable seats, and control of the thermostat. It never occurred to me that having kids might bring me back. Now, I’ve accepted that for the next decade all of our family’s expendable income will go to live sports (or, of course, youth sports). Indeed, living vicariously through James was so much more satisfying than living it myself. Every big play, every first down, every cheesy gimmick up on the Jumbotron had me right there with James, like I was a 7-year-old at my first game.

And then there was the quasi-religious aspect. For one, I’ve never seen a team so spiritually connected to its fans. When the Lions were on defense, it felt like we were literally checking into the game alongside them. Our assignment: go absolutely berserk. So to be there, and to know—not just to feel—that we were affecting the outcome of the game felt like a privilege, you might even say a sacred privilege.

65,000 people synergized around a common goal, setting aside differences in race, creed, class, and political affiliation—it was, in a way, a religious experience. Trumpers high-fiving Bleeding Hearters, an Oakland County millionaire hugging the electrician from Wyandotte, an Obie Trice look-alike fist-bumping a girl who just drove in from Howell. These were folks who might flip each other off at Speedway or slander each other on X.

I’ve been to plenty of concerts, where people are cosmically connected to the artist and to the crowd, but there is something quite different with an arc of an actual contest, when everyone in the building (aside from a few sad Packer fans) is channeling all of their energy to affect the outcome of the game, knowing that all of that energy might end in you walking out into the cold, dejected and pissed about the $200 you spent on concessions, only to watch your team lose.

I think about the memory that was formed in James’ psyche; that formidable experience that will never leave him. He will go to more Lions games, but maybe none that are that exciting, and probably not with just his dad. I think that’s about 60% of being a parent – creating positive, indelible memories for our kids.

His brother just scored a trip to Columbus to see Tennessee play Ohio State in the College Football Playoff. From what I’ve heard about the Horseshoe and its inhabitants, I expect Sam’s memory from that experience will be indelible. Positive? We’ll see.

Go Vols.

Question for the comments:

What is the most memorable positive event from your childhood? Or, what event did you provide for your kid (or niece or nephew) that you think will stand the test of time as an indelible, positive memory?

Special thanks to my dad for making me write this piece!