What freedom loving American hasn’t used a sports metaphor to describe some facet of life? They’re about as common as a two strike fastball in the bottom of the ninth. But what happens now, when the metaphor doesn’t have anything nice to say?

I heard about the events of the sports world this weekend, and like many news stories of the day, I dismissed them as typical and unsurprising. Then a funny thing happened on my way to blissful detachment, I saw the film at eleven.

Why do I even care? As it turns out, I am no better than my fellow television watching, American reactionaries. I am the victim of an image. I keep seeing a frightened courtside child, and the parent whose comforting embrace seems so inadequate; to both the parent and the child. I keep thinking of the inebriated idiots in the stands that hurl insults and objects with equal detachment. I keep thinking of the players who are ill-prepared for their role as model. I keep thinking of that child, whose life will be shaped by the idiots in the stands as well as the idiots on the court.

I keep thinking it’s a shame that sports works so well as a metaphor in our lives, especially now.