I did not watch “Miracle” the other night just because of the Olympics. Yes, it was offered up to me by my streaming service, I am sure, because of the amount of golden and glorious dreams in the air right now.
As a lover of both hockey and inspirational sports movies, I watch “Miracle” more than your average viewer. I know the movie like a well-traveled road, and I remember the 1980 Olympics as a kid. It is nostalgia, filled with little moments built to catch a patriotic breath — all the more so because it is a true story.
But while I normally build to the dramatic victory over the Russians, this time it wasn’t Al Michaels’ iconic “Do you believe in miracles?” that made me tear up. This time, the lump in my throat came much earlier.
It came when Kurt Russell, playing Herb Brooks, is trying desperately to mold his group of college players from Minnesota and Massachusetts into a true team representing the nation.
“When you pull on that jersey, you represent yourself and your teammates,” he says. “And the name on the front is a hell of a lot more important than the one on the back. Get that through your head.”
It is too bad politics doesn’t have a locker room.
There should be a place — not an office or a caucus room where deals are made and broken — but somewhere someone can gather the players and tell them when they are missing the mark. There should be a place where a rousing speech or a disappointed admonition reminds lawmakers and leaders of the goal.
Our government is steeped in sports metaphor. It scores wins and losses. It tallies points. It obsesses over spreads. It lives and dies by its most famous members: the ones who bring in the most money.
But we are now emulating sports in its most mercenary era. It is contracts and betting apps.
And if that seems like metaphor, consider that you can place a wager today on who will win the midterm elections, the Pennsylvania governor’s race and the presidency in 2028. Markets already list favorites. They already track momentum. They assign odds as if the next election were a championship game.
But all of this focuses on the back of the jersey. Even party identity ignores the name on the front of the uniform. They use it as little more than branding. It is becoming a mascot.
The saddest difference between sports and politics is that there is no Herb Brooks to demand the power players lace up their skates and run suicide drills, rushing back and forth until the message finally breaks through.
“Who do you play for?” Russell’s Brooks asks. It is a question he has put to the players before. They answered with their old teams: the University of Minnesota. The University of Wisconsin. Boston University.
Mike Eruzione, played by Patrick O’Brien Demsey, finally answers the question the right way.
“The United States of America.”
Congress — not the parties — needs that same realization. The 535 men and women elected to the Capitol do not play for themselves. They do not play for their parties. They absolutely do not play for their donors.
It’s the name on the front that matters.
Do you believe in miracles?
