For the sake of humanity, let humanity win
Many a winter Saturday morning, as I braced to head out to a wind-blown, rainsodden football field to coach or watch kids’ sport, the thought would flash through my mind: why, oh why isn’t it cancelled today?
But whenever it was called off, I felt lost, as though I’d missed out. It was never about the actual game. It was about the interaction. Seeing the kids enjoying themselves, sliding around, chasing the ball, being with their mates. Catching up with other parents, many of whom our paths would otherwise never have crossed.
If ever there was a time we needed each other, we needed community, it’s now.
And yet, we know, that’s just got a whole lot more awkward.
As each day comes, we see the coronavirus case numbers grow, and the economic blow balloon.
We watch in awe as dedicated public health experts and frontline carers swoop into action to flatten the curve, and politicians and Treasury officials scramble to preserve what they can of jobs, of incomes.
But how do we even begin to tally the social cost of coronavirus? And how can we cushion the blow?
Take sport, for example. The axing of top-level elite competition is no doubt going to have a significant economic impact as the ruling bodies of our major codes endure shrinking revenues. And how will we cope if we never find out who was the champion Super Rugby side for 2020? Or who was destined to be the MVP of the NBA?
But from a social connection and cohesion point of view, all that simply pales into insignificance when you consider the loss of community-level games and events.
It’s the part about sport you’ll never see if all you watch are the matches on Sky or Spark. Sport, the great leveller. Standing on the sideline, it matters not a jot if you’re a millionaire businesswoman, a solo dad, or even, gasp, a journalist. After a winter in the trenches, friendships are forged,
connections made, just as they are on the field. You get glimpses of the human condition, of the way other people survive and live, in a way you otherwise would not have.
Humanity wins.
Now this whole season has a coronavirus cloud hanging over it like a ruinous rainstorm that blows in on a Saturday morning. And stays.
Club and school sports across many codes are on hold. Winter sports fields will be silent.
Even in a so-called solo sport like running, Covid-19 is crushing the community.
Every Saturday morning at 8 am, at 29 picturesque sites around the country, runners gather for something called parkrun. Well, every Saturday morning until now, that is.
This week, parkrun became the latest sporting institution to be suspended, called off for the rest of March and likely April too (so far).
Parkrun is about as far as you can get from elite sport. It’s free, requires no level of skill or speed, and you don’t even need to enter. You register once, and then you just turn up.
It’s a global phenomenon, designed to encourage people to get out and walk or run 5km. In New Zealand, each week more than 3000 people take part.
Last Saturday, like I’ve done more than 50 other times, I lined up at my local parkrun. My heart was a little bit heavy because I realised this could be the last one for a while.
The coronavirus cloud was looming. Each single event is smaller than 500-strong, but since we stand close together for a pre-race briefing, and huddle together at the startline, then interact with volunteers who record our places and times, it seemed inevitable that this wouldn’t last.
It’s a tough call. On the one hand are the public health risks. On the other, parkrun is a vehicle for the promotion of health and wellbeing, encouraging good fitness habits, and building social cohesion.
Like the gatherings on those winter sidelines, I’ve met plenty of people at parkrun who I otherwise would never have known. We exchange smiles and chat (once we’ve stopped gasping), finding out about each other’s lives, filling in the divide. Humanity wins.
And then there are the rituals that surround. Each week at parkrun, a group of us friends go for breakfast afterwards, boosting the local cafe economy, and hearing about each other’s weeks.
That’s all on hold, for now. So, too, are many bigger running events – even the granddad of New Zealand running, the 55-year-old Rotorua Marathon, has to yield, postponed until further notice. The sulphur-perfumed start-line, one of the best in the world, will be silent this May.
And it’s the same for all sorts of regular arts, cultural and religious gatherings – not just the big, high profile events.
I’m talking about community, the joy of coming together at a grass-roots level.
So what do we do? There is no rescue package coming from the Government.
It’s up to us. We need to keep reaching across the divides.
Yes, check in with your loved ones, your close friends, the people you’d normally see every day. But what about others?
The people down the road you see when they’re out walking the dog? Say gidday (from a safe distance). The strangers you might see at the petrol station forecourt? How about not sneering at them like they might be infectious and instead give them a smile or an East Coast Wave.
Our health is one thing. But as we ride out these shutdowns and cancellations, even though we can’t cheer on our sports teams or our kids, let’s help humanity win.