Dear Editor,

I will start by addressing those that care nothing of sports, or perhaps even despise it. I understand, I get it. Professional sports can be a scar on society in a way. A bunch of grown men and women, playing a children’s game, for millions of dollars, distracting us from things that might matter more, and getting preferential treatment even in criminal situations. I get it. But I’m here to tell a different tale, a tale of first love.

Some of my earliest childhood memories revolve around going to Denver Nuggets games with my Dad. I was only three years old when I first remember walking into McNichols Arena, those stairs felt like climbing a 14er at the time. I remember running into familiar faces only before seen on television, larger than life figures I only imagined I’d ever see in Broncos uniforms. My Dad had season tickets in those days, back when the team seemed to be destined to be last in the league and setting records only for ineptitude.

In those early years of life I met my first love, basketball. I fell in love with the game. Basketball Jones is a real thing. I would shoot hoops on summer days into the dark of night, through the rain. Imagining (ignorantly) that I, a 5’8” white boy from the suburbs may someday play point guard for the Nuggets. I still remember my first underhand shot that went through a ten foot hoop, under instruction from my brother. I remember my big brother and I had a closet filled with jerseys with the names of Abdul-Rauf, Ellis, Pack, Mutumbo, Van-Exel, McDyess. I remember Mutumbo holding that ball in tears when the Nuggets upset the Sonics. I remember being in tears myself when the Nuggets received the third pick in the 2003 draft lottery, feeling assured we would end up with Darko Milicic and destined to another era of terrible basketball.

The term “ the most beautiful game” is usually reserved for soccer, but I’ve personally always seen basketball as the most beautiful game, when played right. Now here we are, watching the Denver Nuggets fulfill a childhood dream by playing the game the right way. It is not a Carmelo one-on-one game. It’s not all about three-point shooting. They’re humble and unselfish, they work hard and move, cut and pass beautifully. A childhood dream, that truly always felt like a dream, is now a reality.

The Bronco’s Super Bowl 32 win was magical. I was ten years old. This feels even more special. Whether you love or hate sports there is something to take from this, a lesson to learn. These men are incredibly athletic and skilled, yet to get to this mountain top, to summit a 14er, you must have discipline and work ethic. You must have passion and desire to be a champion. It should be a lesson to us all that if you don’t have that passion, that desire and work ethic to be the best you can be at what you’re doing, then you’re wasting precious time in a life that is far too short and achingly fragile.

This team, and sports in general, can fulfill childhood dreams, can unite communities, and reaffirm a long-lost first love. It’s truly a beautiful thing to see. I feel so lucky to be able to see this moment for the Denver Nuggets and all their fans, especially those that have been in love with them like me, since 1990 as a three-year-old boy, dreaming of this day to finally be reality. And my Dad gets to enjoy it too. Thank you Nuggets Nation. Let’s have a parade!

Ian Naudain

Rollinsville