I’m not really a sports fan. I was almost a fan, for a while. Mostly, the idea of being a sports fan was appealing, but there were too many numbers; it went way beyond wins and losses. And every year, in every sport, they added more statistics, as if the world of athletics were being run by evil, cruel accountants. It was math homework all over again.

Then I started noticing some very bad numbers: coaches’ salaries, ticket prices, licensed team gear. It made the renaissance popes look miserly. How many people could be helped by giving some of that to the poor? Coaches could still make a comfortable living and we could solve some of our most persistent and vexing problems.

It wasn’t long before people quit asking me, “Hey, did you watch the game last night?” This was fine with me, because I didn’t even know there was a game.

Recently an athlete made the news because she smoked a little weed and wasn’t going to be allowed to run in the Olympics. Her name was Sha’Carri Richardson, and the picture showed a head of golden hair, eye lashes inches long, a smile that had to be measured in lumens, and the hand pointing to the crowd had long, really long, painted fingernails. I’m not a sports fan, but it was hard to connect all…