Philly, who remembers the movie Bedtime Stories starring Adam Sandler? I first watched it when I was 10, and I remember being confused about what the ending was trying to tell me. Looking back on it, it is one of the most blunt but accurate life lessons any children’s movie taught me as I grew up and learned more about the world. There are not always happy endings, which everyone has to deal with emotionally in one way or another.
A Phillies hero
I remember October 7, 2011, like it was yesterday. I had just turned 13 years old. All I knew was success from the Philadelphia Phillies for my sports fandom thus far. Of course, I was unaware how quickly an athlete’s playing career could be halted and derailed. The Phillies had just won 102 games in the regular season—their most ever in a single season—and looked poised to return to the World Series after a one-year layoff.
Then it happened.
Not only did the Phillies lose in the NLDS to the St. Louis Cardinals, but their cleanup man and preeminent powerhouse—and my childhood favorite player—Ryan Howard tore his Achilles tendon on the final play of the series and the season. The Phillies’ core, which I grew up addicted to like a drug, would never be the same again—in fact, they never even made it back to the playoffs.
Ryan Howard would eventually return to ride out the back end of his career, but he, too, would never be the same. Before the National League implemented a full-time designated hitter, the game and Father Time had passed Howard by.
A reality check
It was my first reality check that these larger-than-life figures we idolize so deeply are much more than the fame and fortune gap we use as comparison points for ourselves and our aspirations. They are human beings who have to recover and rehabilitate just as we would have to, who have to put more on their partners’ and family’s plates while they cannot do everything they are used to. It does not matter how much money they put in the bank.
We act like it matters because they can retire early and comfortably in ways we probably cannot. I urge you to remember that, as paying fans, you contribute to their handsome compensation. And you do that because these players, teams, brands, and—above all else—people, mean something to you. But that ‘people’ part is where everything gets lost.
Any conversation about Jason Kelce’s ability to keep playing football last summer always led me to the same takeaway. He could have played football at a very high level this past season and would have been a key contributor to an eventual Super Bowl champion team. But after all the years of battling in the trenches and seemingly having his spine compressed every time he led the charge for the Tush Push, I wanted him to retire for the sake of his family and life after football.
Jason and his wife, Kylie, welcomed their fourth daughter back in March. I want the man to be able to get down on the floor, play with his kids, and get back up pain-free. I am so happy he left on his own volition, even if he left a championship ring on the table.
Some athletes, like Ryan Howard, are not so lucky. Not all greats get to see their greatness through to the end, and that should not be lost to time and history. But what also should not be lost to time and history is the impact and memories that our superstars have given us.
Ring culture and legacy
When I saw Damian Lillard sitting on the court, grabbing the back of his ankle, and looking despondent, I thought about how it is very likely I will never see the player I have loved so much for over a decade play and compete the same way again. Watching Joel Embiid’s knee not respond to any consistent form of game action since January 2024 makes you think we may have seen the best of him, too.
Where Ryan Howard differs from Lillard and Embiid is that Howard has a championship ring on his finger, and that ring lives forever. Because ring culture has dominated how we view and remember greatness, what these players accomplish often gets taken for granted and forgotten, even by local fan bases.
That is not to say that these athletes are above criticism—I do enough of that alone. But remembering the time and effort they put into being great, recognizing that their time doing a job they love is much shorter than the average person’s, remembering that they too clock out and go home to their families just like us, is a significant anecdote. Do not lose sight of that aforementioned ‘people’ part.
Everybody does not get to reach the mountaintop, and everybody does not get to have a storybook ending. In 20 years, when I think about Joel Embiid’s career, I will choose to remember the 70-point game, the four-year run of MVP contention, and being a beacon of hope for a franchise that had nothing going for it since the beginning of the century. I will also remember the shortcomings and the painful moments of failure, which are part of the fan experience. But if that were all I remember, then there would be no point in being a fan.
Basketball history will not remember Damian Lillard going through a tough divorce—despite their eventual reunion—and having the organization to which he devoted his life pretend his parting wishes did not exist. Business is business; the players know that, but that is an emotionally draining situation to battle through, no matter how much money comes in every two weeks. We are able to remember that as part of his story, even though basketball history will not.
Basketball history will not remember Joel Embiid starting his playing journey when he was nearly 17 years old or his brother’s tragic death, after which he almost quit the game in his grief. The playoff failures will be remembered long before the itemized list of injuries that kept him from realizing his true potential—something pretty crazy to say about a man who scored 70 points in an NBA game. We are allowed to remember what he has overcome as part of his story, though basketball history will not. We are able to feel sympathy and compassion for Embiid, even though basketball history does not.
Recently, a piece by ESPN’s Dotun Akintoye gave the world a closer look at Joel Embiid than ever before. The article covered years of Embiid’s life, delving into various aspects of his story, from his early years to the personal tragedies he’s suffered, to his lengthy injury history, battling with the Sixers organization regarding his treatment, and so much more. While it has been the topic of conversation for most Sixers fans since its release, basketball history will forget it just as well, but we are still able to remember.
Any moment could be the last time you witness greatness, and it is not always on the terms of the athlete. No matter how each story ends, the pain and failure of defeat need to be part and parcel with the joy you experienced due to said greatness. Just because Joel Embiid and Damian Lillard’s Wikipedia pages do not say they are champions does not mean I did not sit down on my couch every night and turn on the television to watch them play basketball and expect something amazing to happen.
Do not take these players for granted, and always remember that, although they often seem greater than, they are human just like us. They think, work hard, feel, hurt, bleed, recover, and do it all over again—a lot of the time to please people like you. In that aspect, they are not unlike our daily loved ones, who also work, hurt, and bleed for us, only to do it again the next day.
Treat them that way. Remember them that way. Cherish them that way.
