Few segments of society are as prone to ­hyperbole as the world of sports. Innovative coaches are regularly referred to as "geniuses," as though ­designing an effective zone blitz were akin to splitting the atom. Crucial games are often described as "do-or-die" situations when in reality, they are nothing of the sort.

Admittedly, there are times when sporting events transcend box score boundaries. When the United States' Olympic hockey team defeated its Cold War rival the Soviet Union at the 1980 ­Winter Olympic Games, many Americans were momentarily distracted from then president ­Jimmy Carter's "crisis of confidence."

The more tragic the situation, though, the more dicey sports-as-societal-salve stories become. Sure, the New Orleans Saints' Super Bowl victory in 2010, like the New York Yankees' World Series appearance in 2001, renewed civic pride in a city previously devastated by tragedy (Hurricane Katrina and the 9/11 attacks, respectively). But comparing the literal loss of life and limb to a sporting event implies a lack of perspective.

Monday's Boston Marathon was one of the rare moments when attaching real-life import to a sporting event didn't feel off-kilter. Partly because the marathon itself is a long journey, one whose participants endure physical and mental suffering before reaching the finish line - not unlike a city's collective attempt to recover from tragedy.

Partly because of the event's everyman ethos. Despite the race's qualifying time standards, the majority of its runners are recreational, everyday athletes. Anyone can be affected by a senseless act of violence, and in theory, anyone can run the Boston Marathon.

But mostly because of the race's physical ­location. The Yankees didn't play their World ­Series games at the World Trade Center. The Saints' ­Super Bowl victory occurred in a ­different state altogether. Runners in this year's Boston Marathon, however, took to the very same streets on which last year's bombs were detonated.

Many survivors returned to the scene, ­facing significant demons in the process. Heather ­Abbot, who lost part of her left leg in one of the explosions, jogged the last 0.8 kilometers of the year's race on a prosthetic running blade. Courageous, inspiring acts? You better believe it.

When they're used improperly, sports-themed life metaphors feel hollow. Monday in Boston, they felt just right.

The author is a Beijing-based freelance writer. robvogtwriting@gmail.com


Newspaper headline: 'Strong' language a perfect fit in Boston as city recovers