Try as you might, there is no other phrase in the English language that quite captures the essence of the word “perfect.” Granted, there are some that come close, but it is remarkably difficult to truly encapsulate its meaning.
So I must ask your forgiveness, I’m afraid, for the lack of variety over the next 500 or so words due to my excessive use of the term, all of which makes this column, as all that I write, less than perfect.
Perfection is something to strive for regardless of profession. For athletes it would seem that this motif would ring especially true, seeing as they are acquiring small fortunes in exchange for entertaining the masses.
Alas, in this arena where the best of the best compete daily, there is little room for perfection.
Not that it’s the players’ faults; most sports offer very few if any opportunities for this penultimate of achievements. Instead, it is the nature of the feats they attempt that prevent athletes from performing impeccably. For outside of the latest edition of Madden, fans, management and the media know better than to expect perfection in sports.
That isn’t to say that it is a realm entirely devoid of flawlessness. Some of the language involved in athletics has evolved to accommodate the need for perfection; hence, baseball has perfect games. And there are certain instances, such as rolling a 300 in bowling (for those that consider bowling to be a sport), where everything that could possibly go right does.
Still, more often than not “perfect” is swapped with “record,” a more practical gauge of achievement when perfection is indefinable. This is not to be confused with a “perfect record,” such as Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, but is in fact a signifier of a person or team coming as close to perfection as we have managed thus far.
These marks may be universal standards signifying tremendous moments of human achievement, such as the world’s fastest 100-meter dash time, or sustained greatness over an extended period, like Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak.
Yet it is clear that we cannot call these records perfect. For while Tiger Woods’ 18-under, 12-stroke 1997 Masters’ victory is a triumph that may never be equaled, it would be arrogant to presume that it is golf perfection.
Another prime example of this record-for-perfect substitution can be found at none other than Northwestern University, our beloved pressure-cooking bastion of pre-professionalism and just one of the countless American institutions pushing an agenda of perfectionism.
But even with its lofty academic standards, NU is inevitably linked to an athletic program that has for much of its history been a paradigm of anti-perfection (or, dare I say, failure?). The 1979-1982 Wildcats’ 34-game losing streak in football is still an NCAA Division I-A record and the benchmark of utter inadequacy on the gridiron.
Despite its sometimes lowly reputation, NU has nonetheless achieved athletic perfection. In 2005, the women’s lacrosse team had a perfect season, going 21-0 en route to its first of what will more than likely be three-straight national championships. Women’s tennis has been perfect in Big Ten play since 2004. And Cats fans seem perfectly satisfied with being outnumbered by visiting rooters at football and basketball games.
And so it seems that even perfection has its faults, for while it has made its way into athletics, it has done so in a mutant form: records. So in those rare situations when perfection penetrates the the sports barrier, do your best to appreciate them.
