They Didn't Leaved the Field.
GOOOOOO SSSSPPPPPOOOORTS!!
George Carlin, the comedian, did a great bit comparing football to baseball. Football is played on a gridiron. Baseball is played on a diamond. In football, you make a tackle. In baseball, you make an error. In football, you push the ball down the field to the end zone. In baseball, you go home.
So this morning, I gave myself a challenge. I decided to see if I could make football a metaphor for grief. Please give me grace on this one because 1) I know very little about football, and 2) the connection between football and loss may be thin.
Why even attempt this?
I want to demonstrate a few principles for dealing with grief in real time. The stories we tell ourselves about our loss (and life altogether) are all made up, so why not create narratives that serve us rather than keep us stuck or hold us back?
So often, we tell the same story over and over again: I am broken. I will never be happy again. My life is over. And in doing that, we forget that we always have the opportunity to change the meaning we give the story, the language we use to tell it, or the narrative altogether.
So, here we go.
Find your team.
I’ve heard people in the grief and loss space talk about society as teams: us (those who have experienced a specific loss) and them (everyone else). Having people to your left and right who know what you’re going through is half the battle in not feeling alone. That includes the right support system; therapist, coach, mentor, fitness or wellness professional, peer support group, and more. This really is a team sport.
Many comparisons between football and loss focus on the football as the pain we carry. I want to reframe that. In this metaphor, the football is the memory of the person we lost, and you are the quarterback.
Sure, you can hold onto the memory all by yourself. But it’s incredibly hard to move forward alone. Like a proficient quarterback, you get to choose: hand it off, throw it downfield, or run it yourself. This is exactly the skill we need to develop when sharing memories of our loved one with the world. We have to scan the field, see who’s being blocked, and notice who’s open.
Even the best quarterbacks drop the ball, fumble, or throw interceptions. So give yourself some grace when you share your loss with someone who’s unreceptive, or when someone invalidates it. Navigating the intricacies of this game takes practice and skill.
Moving the ball down the field ten yards at a time.
So often, we think we should be “over” the pain in a few months, a few years, or even a few decades. Are there people who can run the ball the length of the field in one play? Yes. But the reality is, most progress happens ten yards at a time. In fact, most points are scored that way. Small movements forward still get you into the end zone
And even when you’re moving forward, sometimes you get pushed back. Sometimes the quarterback holds onto the ball too long. Sometimes the defense lets someone through, and you lose yardage. That’s part of the game. We get sacked. We get knocked down. When that happens, get up, brush yourself off, and get ready for the next play.
When things start to go off the rails, you can always call a timeout.
A timeout lets you regroup and get back on the same page as your team. It gives you space to remember your own personal playbook. Everyone’s loss is different, so everyone has different patterns and plays. Learning yours, and how to navigate them, is critical for forward movement.
I could probably keep going with football-and-loss parallels.
But now it’s your turn.
What’s your game plan for sharing memories and keeping yourself in the game?
Go with power,
Jason
Try this Simple Practice:
Super Bowl Memory Practice
As you watch or think about the Super Bowl this year, the biggest game of the season, try this simple practice:
Every time your team scores a touchdown or makes a big play, take a moment and share a memory of your person.
You can do this silently in your mind, say it out loud, or even send a quick text or voice message to someone you trust. Maybe it’s:
A funny story they told
A favorite tradition you shared
Something they always said
Each “score” becomes a gentle cue, like a reminder that the person you lost isn’t gone from your story, they’re woven into it.
This is blessedly simple and anchored in something social and familiar — watching the game, cheering, feeling the ups and downs alongside others.
You’re basically turning touchdowns into memory touchdowns.
It transforms a moment of excitement into a moment of connection with what matters, letting joy and remembrance coexist.
Try it this Super Bowl Sunday!
(And if your team doesn’t score… you can still share a memory whenever there’s a commercial break or a timeout.)