Last night I watched the local news in Portland.
A dog survived in a car that tumbled down a steep hill and into Crater Lake. For context, even though the city and the state are facing deplorable economic conditions and everything that goes along with them, the local news in Portland almost always features an animal video. Not long ago a zebra broke out of its quarters and took to the streets of Sacramento, and, in Alabama, there was a monkey who had been trained to ride on the back of a dog and run a race in the state fair. “So irresistible,” said the anchorwoman, whose voice is the auditory equivalent of a rash. The dog story last night, while infuriating, was at least local.
The other story last night that caught my attention – primarily because of the disproportionate amount of time dedicated to it – had all the elements: football, tears and God, lots and lots of God. Recently a high school football star made “the play of his life” (at 18!) and then collapsed on the field. A cardiac nurse emerged from the stands and got to work on him. Yesterday he had surgery, after which the coach did a press conference where he announced that the boy’s recovery, which is expected to be quite rapid, is nothing short of a miracle. I could almost hear the pages in the hymnals turning slowly, and when I looked up from the television, it was as if the windows in my living room had been replaced, mysteriously, with stained glass. It was not enough to simply waste minutes allocated to news with the nonsense about the boy’s surgery going well. First, there was footage from the actual game with a recap of the play and the incident. Then, footage, post-trauma but pre-surgery, of the kid at a subsequent game, where the cardiac nurse was introduced as, you guessed it, a hero. The quarterback came out to the field and he and his heroic nurse embraced before the cheering crowd of football enthusiasts. “That’s when the tears really started flowing,” said the voiceover, in case you missed it.
It got better. First, the quarterback, confessing, with a sparkle in his eye, that he’s always felt that “someone” is watching over him. Then, the coach, who said the boy has a certain aura, a certain glow, as if he’s special and he’s protected. And then, the grand finale, or, in baseball parlance, the home run: the nurse! She too believes that the whole thing was God’s handiwork! “I just had a feeling that I was meant to be there that night,” she said.
