THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 3, 1995 TAG: 9509010084
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY ANN G. SJOERDSMA
LENGTH: Medium: 88 lines
THE PUMP.
Interesting phenomenon, the ``pump,'' intense, addictive and uniquely human. . . . I don't recall ever seeing two cats high-five; 'cause, bless their finicky souls, cats just don't get ``pumped up.''
But we humans do, especially on a great sports day like today. NFL football returns, in all its plumb-ugly beauty and ignoble pain. And if that isn't enough to get our adrenalin pumping, there's U.S. Open tennis to embrace.
What a rush. Life does have its extrasensory moments.
I've thought long and hard about the seduction of pro football, which cuts across sex (truly), race, class, age and any other demographic dividing lines imagined, and I've come up with one surefire root cause: The Pump. Unlike any other team sport, football, with its raw power and precious few contests - one game counts for so much - primes the human pump, that force within us that hungers for competition, challenge, heightened awareness and cheap thrills.
It's sort of what makes us want to ``kick butt,'' but I prefer to think of it in a more genteel, respectable way.
Take spectacular ``comeback kid'' Monica Seles. Now there's a pumped-up woman, and she knows enough to shop on New York's Fifth Avenue. After a two-year layoff, she's incredibly poised, and well-dressed, to win the U.S. title.
At first blush, professional tennis and NFL football would seem to be opposites: grace vs. girth, individual effort vs. teamwork. But both sports hinge on lines, inches and do-or-die moments; and only individuals, secondarily combining as teams, make great moments.
Check out Seles' eyes during competition. Ex-Chicago Bears linebacker Mike Singletary had those same supernatural, fiery eyes every time he hovered at the scrimmage line.
The Pump.
Far more than ``runner's high,'' a marvelous chemical euphoria, or ``zoning,'' a marvelous mental transcendence, The Pump is uncorked aggressive energy. But caution: Men who get pumped up over golf probably have an extra Y chromosome and should be wrestling bears in the Yukon.
As we become a more passive, sedentary society, with comfort, not challenge, motivating our actions, blessed are the ``pumps'' - few and far between - that enhance our work and personal lives: the engaging battle of wits; the struggle to make just that which is unjust; the search for truth amid lies; the commitment to scale whatever we perceive needs scaling.
In the past, the challenge of daily life itself was all-demanding. Now, for many, sports have become the ultimate test of survival: We need to feel intensely alive in the moment.
Where else can we safely go with our passion to defy and control, to be masters of our own fates, than to football? And where else can we be so quickly, and gratuitously, rewarded?
No American sport is more abusive of the human body than football. And yet, no American sport takes the human will, of both spectator and participant, to greater heights than grind-it-out, down-in-the-muck, never-say-die NFL football. Here we can excel by just holding our ground.
Or we can shove the ball - civilly, of course - in our opponent's face. Think of Bears great Walter Payton, who week in and week out for 13 years took hit after hit just to ``keep going, keep going . . . more yards,'' as he recalled on last year's NFL 75th anniversary special.
That's The Pump. Punishing, but exhilarating. Not just adrenalin or endorphins, or a desire to win, but a heightened sense of being. Adversity only strengthens it. Just ask Seles, who used the misfortune of her '93 stabbing to become tougher and taller, and to stop talking (kinda like) like an annoying Valley Girl.
No athlete gets to Seles' or Payton's level, however, without enduring Herculean trials of fitness and training; and no athlete forgets it once he or she has been there. It is little wonder that those who have experienced The Pump don't want to give it up, and that we who have witnessed their triumphs don't want them to leave. Joe Montana's battered body gave out, but not his will. Even Martina Navratilova, who pumped up women's tennis when Chrissie Evert was coasting, had to bow to the inevitable. Their desire stirs ours; we, too, want to be extraordinary.
So . . . until cats high-five and dogs argue referee calls, I'll watch with eager anticipation the men in helmets and the women with rackets. And today, like millions of other people I'll never know - thank heavens - I'm pumped. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo
Monica Seles
Photo
Walter Payton took hit after hit just to ``keep going.''
by CNB