I’m a great athlete. That’s the second-biggest lie I tell. The first is when I say, “I’m happy to be here,” when I’m not at home. I’m not good at sports, but I like watching them. Not with my full attention, but on a second or even third screen—on mute—while I play a ten-year-old video game on screen one and maybe watch a movie I’ve seen half a dozen times on screen two. Sports connect me to the world without the added baggage of the news, which mostly makes me sad or angry. Professional athletic competitions are the shared cultural events that bind us together. Without football, all small talk would end forever and America would be doomed to awkward silence. Either that or we would talk about the weather. For sports to serve their vital purpose, they don’t need to be played in billion-dollar stadiums or receive primetime coverage on the Big Three networks. In fact, they can be much more fun if they don’t meet either criteria. This week, I discovered what might be the greatest athletic competition on the planet. It’s the national sport of the eighth most populous country on earth and is enjoyed by millions around the world. Yet, before Wednesday, I had literally never heard of it. No, I’m not talking about cricket, which I’m still not convinced is any more real than quidditch. Instead, let me introduce you to the magical world of tackle tag.
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