Sarah Nigbor

I have never been accused of being even remotely athletic, so I am in absolute awe of any athlete who excels at their sport(s). God did not see fit to bless me with coordination, speed or grace; my talents lie elsewhere. I’m no Molly Janke.

I regret not trying any sports during my school career, but to be honest, I was just too darn shy and worried I would make a fool of myself. I also never liked the spotlight and spent my time trying to blend into the woodwork instead of being noticed. As a young adult, I excelled at trap shooting, but that wasn’t an option when I was in school. My glory came from beating my male college housemates while shooting at a quarry outside of town. Nothing is quite as satisfying as taking down a cocky competitor.

But just because I’m not athletic doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy watching sports. I love watching and cheering for Milwaukee Brewers baseball; Green Bay Packers, UW-River Falls Falcons and Wisconsin Badgers football and my kids in their sports (baseball, football, track, cross country, softball, volleyball, basketball). I also cheer for my husband, who coaches varsity football at a Middle Border Conference school. I scream until my voice is hoarse and have been known to break out a cow bell or two.

I was also taught in no uncertain terms to despise any Minnesota team: Vikings, Twins, Wild, Gophers, all of them. To root for a “Mudduck” team was considered a sin in our household. Sorry to the Minnesota fans and transplants who may be reading this right now.

I have fond memories of watching the Summer and Winter Olympics as a child with my grandparents and mom. I was absolutely obsessed with figure skaters Kristi Yamaguchi and Nancy Kerrigan. I’ll never forget watching them win their medals. Yamaguchi gold in 1992 at Albertville and Kerrigan a silver in 1994 at Lillehammer (after being whacked in the knee by a Tonya Harding henchman). I even kept charts on tagboard of the medal count, complete with gold, silver and bronze star stickers. One of my most cherished childhood possessions was a Kristi Yamaguchi snowglobe from my grandma.

So watching the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris has me super excited. It’s amazing to watch these athletes represent the United States, to work together and cheer each other on. I’m a sap, so of course I had tears in my eyes when the men’s gymnastics team won a bronze medal, their first medal in 16 years. Each performance kept getting better and better. What a comeback story for Brody Malone, who had terrible performances and fell in the pommel horse, floor and high bar in the qualifying round. But in the finals, when it counted, he put it all aside and performed beautifully, along with his teammates. Talk about pressure!

My sweet husband of course gave me a kind observation regarding my athletic abilities while I was marveling over the gymnastics and diving moves. 

“You could have been an Olympic bobsledder, the way you can zip down a hill,” he said with a smirk. He is referring to the time (detailed in a previous column) that I decided to sled down our steep hill, skidded down the ice-covered driveway, shot across the road, flew several feet up and through the air and landed in a cornfield on my tailbone, glasses and pride flying.

He should talk. I seem to remember someone flipping in the air off the Nugget Lake sledding hill. And another time when he was poking fun at me, God’s mighty hand smote him and he slipped on a plastic bag on the kitchen tile, doing yet another flip onto his backside. What is that they say about karma?