when the world of sports was wide
This is an excerpt from Joe Blogs, an online column from the terrific sportswriter Joe Posnanski. You can read the full version on his site here.
Many years ago, when choices were limited, and music was what you heard on the radio, and Happy Days was the No. 1 show on television, there was a weekly sports experience we all watched called Wide World of Sports. You’ll remember, most of you. The thrill of victory. The agony of defeat. The human drama of athletic competition.
Sometimes, there would be popular sports on there. Ali knocked out Foreman on The Wide World of Sports. Pele played his last Brazilian club game on the show and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar played his first NBA game on there. They might show the Monaco Grand Prix. They might show an early three-year-old horse race to introduce the most promising thoroughbreds before the Kentucky Derby. One year, I remember, they showed the final game of the Little League World Series. Apparently, in 1966, they showed Willie Mays hitting his 512th home run, the one that broke Mel Ott’s National League record.
Sometimes, there would be weird and fun exhibitions. The Harlem Globetrotters were regulars on TheWide World of Sports, and sometimes, they’d throw a bucket of water on Howard Cosell. Evel Knievel would jump his motorcycle over buses and cars and fail to make it over the Snake River Canyon. Philippe Petit would walk across a high wire tied between New York skyscrapers.
But my favorite Wide World of Sports always involved these semi-inane sporting events that I had never heard of before. Barrel jumping. Cliff diving. Mr. Universe. Cycling. Various table tennis championships. Etc. The reason I loved these so much is that when they began, I didn’t care at all. But slowly I would find myself learning the rules, getting into the rhythms, and then, involuntarily, rooting for someone. And then it suddenly MATTERED to me if this person jumped over 18 barrels or that one made it to the Ironman finish line.
It mattered to me more than anything.

