Nothing Humbles You Faster Than Celebrating Too Early, Except Doing It With a Tattoo

Nobody celebrates too early like an athlete, and nobody gets more sympathy from me. That inline skater threw both arms up with what I’d estimate was four feet left, and four feet is a long way when the guy behind you is still trying. I’ve watched that premature celebration from the dugout my whole career, usually from teammates, occasionally from me. The bike race is the same story with better sunglasses: one man starts waving to his mother, and another man wins by the width of a tire.

The worst version is when you make it permanent. One fella inked England as World Cup winners on his thigh, then had to add a very small, very sad contraction. A DJ got his station tattooed on his arm a week before they let him go, and a couple put their wedding date in ink before canceling the wedding. I’ve got one tattoo myself, a team logo, and the team moved to another city two years later. I still root for my shoulder.

Then there are the predictions that aged like milk, my favorite section of any library. A newspaper once announced the internet might be a passing fad. A computer came with a sticker promising it would never be obsolete, right next to its 64 megabytes of memory. A local news station told everyone to get their party shoes on because 2020 was going to be great. I spoke too soon plenty of times in my career, but I never put it on a sticker.

What I admire about celebrating too early is that it takes real optimism. You have to believe, with your whole heart, that the cookies will hold their heart shape, that the lasagna will make it to the counter, that the beer truck’s proud slogan will survive the afternoon. That’s not foolishness, exactly. It’s faith, and faith has always had terrible timing. I once bought a commemorative pennant on the way to a game we lost by nine runs, and I still have it, because throwing it out would mean admitting something.

Honestly, I’d rather live among people who start the victory dance a little soon than people who never dance at all. Every one of these moments is somebody who was happy, briefly and loudly, and then learned something in public. That’s the whole human experience in a single replay. Raise your arms if you want to. Just keep skating until you cross the line.

The arms went up. The rival went past. The replay lives forever.