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Pressure From the local bowling tournament to the NBA Finals and the larger things in between
By
Jason Page For many reasons, the athletic ability God gave me can either be viewed as a curse or a gift. On one hand, it kept me out of trouble, taught me the values of teamwork, and brought me some of the best friends a kid can have. On the other side of the ledger, it caused me great confusion with regards to my sexuality, took my focus off schoolwork, and gave me some of the worst heartaches I could ever imagine. But of all the abstract joys that athletic competition has given to me, the one I cherish most, is pressure. In sports, its that first Little League at-bat, that 10th frame where you need the first two strikes, or a last minute free-throw in the NBA Finals. I can only relate to the first two in that triangle. Pressure can also be felt in situations other than those requiring athletic ability. There’s the pressure to meet a deadline at work, to be creative day after day for a nationwide audience, or to simply come out of the closet to a loved one. I have experienced the anxiety that results from all three of these pressure-packed environments. Pressure can be defined as different things to different people. What may seem like a small amount of pressure to someone, may be another’s largest hurdle in life. Take Game 2 of the NBA Finals. Perhaps the game's most well-balanced talent, Tim Duncan, goes to the free throw line and misses 7 of 10 free throw en route to his team's 87-85 loss at home. NBA players shoot thousands of free throws during a season. Between practice and games, free throws become as casual as walking or chewing bubble gum. Yet, on the largest stage in the world, in front of a crowd that was completely supportive, the league's Most Valuable Player cracked under the pressure. On this particular day, he came up short. This doesn’t change the fact that he’s one of the game’s elite. It just shows that even the best sometimes falter at the most inopportune of times. For Tim Duncan, those free throws he missed were a great source of pressure. On June 7, I took part in a bowling tournament at AMF Milford Lanes in Connecticut. The bowling center that’s hosted the Pro Bowlers Associations United States Open was playing host to a far smaller tournament for bowlers of a lesser caliber. By no means were these bowlers chopped liver, as they averaged between 170 and 200. Saturday was a day to qualify. After a first game in which I bowled a 214, I stood in good position to make the cut and compete on Sunday, but my second game fell short of where I was hoping and I bowled a 194. Going into the third game, I knew I needed to bowl at least a 225 to make it to the final round on Sunday. With this pressure sitting squarely on my shoulders, I went out and bowled a 237. I came through in the clutch and was in second position going into Sunday’s final round. I was feeling great, thinking I may win my first tournament. Thoughts of my first bowling payday were dancing around in my head. On Sunday, I had to bowl two games and once again make the cut. From the first practice ball I threw, I sensed something was wrong, I was leaving ugly splits and missing the easy spares that were often left standing as a result of my errant shots. My first game was a below-average 162. The pressure was on to bowl at least a 230 in my second game. Instead of coming through like I had the day before, I missed spares in my first five frames and in the blink of an eye, my hopes of winning this tournament suddenly shifted to the prospects of finishing near the bottom. My free-fall continued in the last five frames and I finished with a dismal 119. I finished in dead last. My nerves got the best of me. When it counted the most, I failed to meet the challenge. The pressure ate me up and spit me out. My athletically challenged partner could have bowled a 119. I left the bowling center stunned, trying to figure out where I went wrong. Real-Life Pressure But pressure isn’t just limited to athletic competition. It enters our personal space when we would least like it to. My partner of two years was faced with having to come out to his mother during this past week. He’s 26 years old and telling his mother was something he had dreaded from the moment I met him in a tiny little bar in New Haven back in 2001. Pretty ironic that he would choose to come out during the same week that Gay Pride Season got into full swing. My partner is Colombian, and in that culture, homosexuality is frowned upon, more so than other more liberal countries. Because he lives here in the States and his family in Colombia, he only sees his mother once every three or four years. So for the month that she stayed with us, he and I slept in separate rooms and I was described simply as his friend and roommate. He promised me, and himself that he would come out of the closet to her just before she left. As the time approached for him to do so, the pressure also became greater. How would she react? Would she disown him? Perhaps she would become angry with me for “turning her boy gay.” The unknown can sometimes be scarier than predicting the worst-case scenario. He finally told her on June 6. There were tears, and questions, but no abandonment and an understanding to love and accept from my partner’s mother. There was also a conversation with me, in which she said she loved me and that she hoped I could take care of her son. I promised I would try to do so. For my partner, this was enormous pressure. Making sure to tell his mother with the most soothing words possible, that he was gay and had been in a relationship for the last two years. Under this great duress, my partner stepped-up to the plate and delivered a clutch, two-out single in the ninth inning to win his personal game. For Tim Duncan, it was a last-minute free throw. For me, it was conquering 10 pins that stood just 60 feet away. For my partner, it was speaking two simple, yet powerful words to a mother that knew him as being heterosexual. His free throw, his tenth frame, was “I’m gay.” There were no cheering fans for him after he said it, no paycheck to validate what he had said, just the satisfaction of knowing that he no longer was living a lie.
Jason Page is currently an on-air personality on
Sirius Satelite Radio's GLBT Radio Stream, OutQ. It is the nation's
first talk-radio station entirely dedicated to the Gay Community. Page
works as an Associate Producer and personality on both the Wayne Besen
Show (7-10 a.m. Monday-Friday) and the Michaelangelo Signorile Show
(1-4 p.m. Monday-Friday). Page has also worked as a play-by-play work
in minor-league baseball. June 10, 2003 |