A Letter to You, Professional Athlete
Even small gestures can create big legacies.
Dear Professional Athlete,
You've made it to the pinnacle of your career—you're on the roster. You're among less than 1% of all little boys and girls who dreamed of being a champion, a pro. All the hard work you've invested in yourself has paid off, and now you're getting paid to play a game you love.
Free time is at an all-time premium because you have almost none. For us spectators, we see you on game day working your magic, or catch glimpses of your life through social media that seem pretty magical too.
What we don't really comprehend is your life outside the game—that you're juggling workouts and travel schedules, games, practices, media appearances, additional training, team meetings, and obligations. With any luck, you also have endorsement obligations, and don't forget family obligations too. Somewhere in that packed calendar, you need to squeeze in a good night's sleep, a few healthy meals, and maybe a little time for yourself. (Call of Duty? Round of golf?)
But something tugs at you. You know this platform you're standing on—however briefly—is powerful, and you want to create a legacy beyond the game. With days like yours, how could you possibly find the time to do more?
Dear athlete, I'm here to tell you, because I've witnessed it firsthand, that ANY amount of time you spend giving back becomes a force multiplier. The people who may seem nameless and faceless to you view that patch on your jersey—front or back—as something special. You are a hero, a heroine, an idol.
Let me share an event that will help you understand.
The team I worked for funded a classroom in a children's hospital, and a small group of team leaders attended a modest ribbon-cutting ceremony. One of the hospital staff asked if a parent could attend—just one dad who really wanted to be there. "Of course," I said.
That dad sought me out, bypassing folks with more recognizable names, to tell me something he felt was critically important. Here's what he shared:
His only son had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and spent most of the last year of his life in that hospital. Mom and Dad took turns staying with their son as much as possible. One day, the team I worked for sent some players on a hospital visit, and they happened to stop by his son's room. No big fancy event—just a player stepping in to shake this boy's hand, give him a baseball cap, and spend about 10 minutes chatting with a kid who loved baseball.
After this visit, according to Dad, his son was so uplifted and energized that he physically responded. His doctor cleared him to go home. The cancer would return with a vengeance, and two weeks later the boy was readmitted and died several weeks after that.
As I listened to this man tell his story—both of us crying—he finished by saying, "I had to come here to thank you for giving us the gift of my son at home for two glorious weeks."
We stood there in an embrace, tears of both joy and sorrow streaming down our faces.
This, dear athlete, is what it's all about. You are special, and you make people feel special when you notice them. You might even give them energy, hope, and happiness—sometimes when they need it most.
Find the time. You will never regret it.
With gratitude,
Your fans