Amy Bass

I don’t know a lot about Oakland. I’ve been there, spent a few nights with a cousin many years ago when I traipsed across the country and back with my sister on a grand adventure. But mostly, when I think of Oakland, I think of baseball.

On Tuesday night, I took my usual spot, my daughter at my side, on the bleachers at Manhattanville College, just a stone’s throw from my office in Founders Hall. I tend to sit middle left at GoValiants.Com field, wedged between the unofficial students’ section and the unofficial parents’ section. The event? Women’s lacrosse – the first playoff game of the Skyline Conference postseason.

I celebrated a birthday a few days ago. It felt good. That weekend, I went out to dinner with friends who are like family – cocktails, wine, steaks – the whole nine yards. On the actual day, I woke to a tsunami of texts and messages on social media, had lunch with two dear friends, and celebrated again that evening with takeout, cake, and drinks, surrounded by my family and even more friends.

It was only a matter of days from the moment the Olympic flame was extinguished in Beijing that the sounds of war descended upon Ukraine. We watched for weeks as Vladimir Putin amassed troops on the Ukrainian border, debating the ethics of letting Russian skating phenom Kamila Valiyeva compete despite a positive drug test last December, and wondering when, if, the IOC would ever give out those medals from the team figure skating competition.

One of the key elements that make a sport a sport is the rules. You want to shoot hoops from a ladder in your backyard? Go for it. Climb right up there and slam that ball down. But keep it in the backyard. Because if you try it in the WNBA, there will be consequences.

When I heard that the Brooklyn Nets had called up Kyrie Irving to their active roster, I considered it to be the equivalent of the infamous moment when a water-skiing Fonzi – leather jacket and all – jumped over a shark on a very special episode of Happy Days. That moment, of course, coined the phrase “jumping the shark,” symbolizing any outlandish attempt to save something already in steady decline.

I cannot stop thinking about Aaron Rodgers. I know the story is now old and gone, and he’s back on the field, and he’s allegedly paid the price – a whopping $14,650 – but, well, he lied, and in a big way.

Soccer isn’t known for its high scoring games. Indeed, of all the stupid reasons many Americans use to still hate on the beautiful game – ties are okay, the clock goes up instead of down, flopping – the low score of many matches tends to top the list.

The finals of the U.S. Open this year presented an interesting tutorial on our inability to predict what people will care about in sports.

Re-entry into a non-Olympic world always takes me a few days. I’ve had the privilege of working on the ground at eight Olympic Games, and coming home, whether from Sydney, Australia or Torino, Italy, always brought a mixture of melancholy and exhaustion, exhilaration and gloom.