“Little things make big things happen,” is an all-time classic morsel of wisdom from former UCLA men’s basketball Head Coach John Wooden.

Although Wooden’s wizardry worked on behalf of the Bruins, there is truth to his thoughts. In life, so much is determined by one thing, whereas in sports, that is rarely the case. Sure, a game can be distilled to a highlight reel, but in reality, a volume of parallel actions determines the final scoreline rather than spurts of brilliance or moments of disarray.

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Sports are a compilation of small movements like a perfectly timed juke, an extra step up in the pocket or the selection of a kick serve. And anything can detract from the focus of these movements, such as fearing the shame of marring a play, musing over the heroics of a catch, remembering someone you love or even the outstretched hands of Steve Bartman. 

But ultimately, outcomes in sports are weighted summations, it is the totality of these moments that matter.

Consider Game 1 of the 2018 NBA Finals. The Cavaliers faced an All-Star lineup in the Warriors’ Kevin Durant, Stephen Curry, Klay Thompson and Draymond Green, yet somehow, Cleveland found itself tied at then-Oracle Arena with five seconds remaining. When the clock resumed, J.R. Smith collected an offensive rebound, and unaware of the score, he dribbled the ball as time ran out. 

The gassed Cavs went on to lose that game by 10 points in overtime, and Smith is often credited with “costing” Cleveland the game and the series sweep to follow. However, even with Smith’s gaffe, the Cavs had the chance to chase a chip in each of the series’ four games.

On the opposing extremity, think back to the 2017 Super Bowl when Tom Brady tossed an 82-yard pick-six, placing the Patriots in an early 21-0 hole. Even with that abysmal moment and those preceding it, Brady and the Pats erased a 25-point deficit for their fifth ring.

Based on this belief, the tag “Little Things” will be an attempt to honor what’s minutely meaningful in USC Athletics. So, in the spirit of addressing what is not always seen, let’s talk about blackouts.

On Saturday night, No. 11 USC football (2-0) was electric in its home opener. The Trojans delivered Utah State a 48-0 tave, but even though the game was decided early, it still dragged on deep into the night. 

An ongoing heat wave in South Central strained power grids all weekend, and with 10:12 to go in the fourth quarter, a power outage struck the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. As shadows skulked in patches across the stadium, the game came to a full stop.

Fans formerly submerged in the action on the field retracted their focus to their surroundings in the stands. With the chassis of the match cleaved, fans had to construct trust among one another that was once invested in the game’s structure. To pass the time until the games’ uncertain resume, they basked in the intimacy of darkness, waving camera lights and chatting with their neighbors, building new forms of solidarity beyond the field. 

These 10 minutes reminded me of my beloved Tropicana Field — home of the Tampa Bay Rays — in South Florida. The Trop is notorious for being the undisputed “worst” stadium in baseball — it is a giant circus dome with stingray touch tanks, obsolete advertisements and zero fans.

During the summers, my family and I snagged $7.11 tickets each Friday and trudged up the coast for ball games. And in typical Trop fashion, my visits were not defined by wins but rather by whether or not the lights had gone out. The brief suspensions of sight were expected and exhilarating; the energy once used to charge the halides meandered its way into the crowd and revealed itself in the form of song, chatter and swaying flashlights.

I love the Trop. I have always been drawn to used and defective things. In fact, I find new and sanitized things to be stressful and sometimes repulsive. I suspect it is because there is comfort in use; it serves as a chronicling of time, signifying that all of this has been done before. There is also comfort in familiarity. Like the Trop, I have been used, at least since the beginning of my time, and sometimes my lights turn off. 

So yes, I demarcate Rays games by blackouts. The Coliseum is probably not well-suited to that filing format, but for some fans Saturday, I’m sure they too will remember the moment they partook in the comradery of sport via a shared anticipation for the game’s resume. Or perhaps for some, those actionless minutes were like the rest of the game — coaches and players stood on the field but in their eyes, nothing was happening.

Leila MacKenzie is a junior writing about small things in sports in her column, “Little Things,” which runs every other Tuesday. She is also a sports editor at the Daily Trojan.