A big week in sports, with three super-major accomplishments: The Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup, Golden State beat the LeBrons for the NBA title, and my son Jake’s team scored seven runs in the bottom of last inning for a 12-11 tournament win.

Man, do I love sports. The players, the stories, the adrenaline rush — it’s all good. My family’s typically not so into it, but as the Blackhawks clinched Game 6, I realized we were all on the couch cheering them on.

We were looking at jubilant players and raucous fans as I explained the traditions of the Cup and the playoffs in general. It was late and the kids were a little slap-happy, and I found myself frustrated they weren’t treating this moment with the reverence it deserved. This was the presentation of Lord Stanley’s Cup! This is honor and history — not, as Jacob put it, “a big silver wine glass.”

But if you’re ten years old, that’s exactly what it is. It’s a funny-shaped silver mug that bearded men lift over their heads as they skate around, having just played a game.

So when, and why, does that change? Why do sports mean so much to so many people?

Because they end.

Sport seasons are finite. They have a defined amount of time — whether we’re talking a game, a season, a tournament — to achieve a goal. There’s a defined set of rules to succeed. They win or they lose.

As fans, we’re passionate about the build-up and the drama around each phase, and we commit to it. We’re not even on the playing field. We find ourselves not just with favorite teams, but favorite players, rooting for their professional success, supporting them every chance we get. I will never meet Tramon Williams or Aaron Rodgers or Jordy Nelson, but that doesn’t stop me from having replica jerseys in my house. We identify with them.

You know who I don’t display that exuberance for? Me. Or my coworkers. That would be silly, right? I’ll see my coworkers tomorrow and the next day, always. Eventually they or even I may leave for new jobs, but the routine is ultimately the same: Forty- or fifty-some years of professional achievement, because that’s life, and that’s what we expect to happen every day for forever.

As a wise man once sang, forever’s a mighty long time. What if we consciously measured that time differently? What if we worked for a season, not the duration of our lives? What if we could look at a professional scoreboard and knew if we won or lost? Would we gear up for work differently, with better focus on the day-to-day? Could it make us more effective, working harder for shorter sprints? Would we need someone to root against as much as we need to cheer ourselves on? (Most importantly: Would we get jerseys? Of our co-workers?? Could I get a #47 Berrones home jersey?!)

We work as we live our lives, expecting there’s always a tomorrow. Sports teams can’t afford to do that.

And we love them for it.

Being a big fan of the Green Bay Packers, I love seeing stories that share a little bit of the behind-the-scenes stories of the players. I was just reminded of one, from 2012, as offensive lineman T.J. Lang had signed a big contract: $21 million to play football — for the Packers — for the next four years.

The article diplomatically explains how Lang — then all of 24 years old — struggled with the responsibilities of adulthood when he broke into the NFL just three years earlier.

“I was 21, living downtown, going out three, four nights a week sometimes,” Lang said…. “But looking back on it, I really didn’t understand why I was doing it. I didn’t think it was a problem back then, but looking back, it’s like I’m lucky to still be here.”

Clearly, he’s matured, as one of his coaches said:

“(Lang has) continued to put the pedal down, saying, `Look, I want to be darn good at this.'”

Maybe like any typical 21-year-old, Lang didn’t fully appreciate 1) the talents he had, and 2) the opportunity he’d been given. But by age 24, he’d become aware. He’s capitalizing on these things and reaping the rewards for it. The article helps me and all Packers fans celebrate a feel-good story.

Perhaps it’s also a moment to be self-reflective: Do I realize the opportunities I have? Or the talents I possess? And even if I do, will I continue to push the pedal down, driving myself to be the best I can be? It’s one thing to celebrate the success of a sports figure on your favorite team; it’s another entirely to dedicate yourself to grow and develop as a person and as a professional.

In 2014, T.J. Lang is coming off a season where Pro Football Focus ranked him as the 15th best guard in the league. There’s room to improve, but there’s reason to believe he’s up to the challenge, and I have a hunch that Lang will earn his second Super Bowl ring.

Meanwhile, 2014 marks the start of my 22nd year as a full-time professional. I want to recognize my talents, to create opportunities, to grow, to mature, and to win my own version of the Super Bowl.

Look, I want to be darn good at this.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about positive and negative energy, wondering why it’s so easy for us to ignore the good and instead point at the bad or failed.

My job has me paying attention to big brands and their social media efforts, where misfires can become really, really big news. And the industry media *love* the failures. In just the last week, I’ve seen these headlines:

• 10 Worst Social Media Marketing Fails of 2013
• The Worst Advertising, Guerrilla Marketing and Social Media Screwups of November (on Twitter, the author billed this as the start of a regular, “weekly” story)
• The Top 10 Corporate Social Media Disasters
• Tweeting Bad: The AMA Edition (a semi-regular column featuring brand tweets around an event)

If I’m looking at the glass half-full, stories with these headlines could be useful if they’re sharing lessons: Here’s what you need to do to avoid a similar outcome. A helping hand to say, “Nobody should make the same mistake twice; let these folks have made it first for you.”

But that’s not the intent of these stories at all. It’s more like calling attention to a car crash. Whether a fender-bender or something more serious, it doesn’t matter, they just want you to look at how badly something went.

We see this behavior often: Magazines feature celebrities who look bad in bathing suits. The nightly news tells us everything that went wrong.

Why don’t we celebrate the successes more? Are they that much harder to define? Is it just that there’s less drama in them, so what’s the fun in that?

I came across this quote in John Maeda’s book, “Redesigning Leadership.” It’s not directly related to what I’m talking about, but it’s in the same neighborhood:

is thinking how positive acts often go unrewarded; negative acts always remain unforgotten. The choice is yours.

— johnmaeda (@johnmaeda) December 12, 2008

Taking an effort needs to be worth it simply for the internal sense of achievement. You must believe what you’re doing is making a positive impact, whether for yourself or others. The celebration comes from within.

Now, even with the best of intentions, that thing may not succeed. But you learn, and you move on to the next thing, even while critics spend their time hating on what you’ve done.

It’s just a shame there’s that negative contingent — whether it stems from jealousy, laziness, or spite — that feels the need to spotlight someone’s failed efforts. Seems it would take just as much energy to lend a helping hand as it would to knock someone down.

The day I got my iPhone was a blessing and a curse, all wrapped into one sleek package.

This was January 2010, so I was a little late to the game. But my refurbished 3GS made me a believer almost right off the bat — immediate access to social media, email, and games? Sold.

It also made me an addict.

Always, always on. I got the phone for work, so the many times I got busted using it at inappropriate times, I could simply say I had to check email. But in reality, email is the gateway drug: You check that, then you think maybe Twitter has an update, and of course Facebook is just a tap away . . .

A couple of years of annoying myself and others who wonder why I was always heads down. But that constantly updated number hovering over the email icon was intriguing and enticing and sexy — who’s writing me now? This could be urgent! How could I turn away?

Skip forward to a few weeks ago. Turns out I was also fighting a daily battle against my battery — it was all but used up by the end of the work day due to constant checking, heavy use during commutes, and working in a signal-challenged city.

I would often close my background apps, but that wasn’t much help. (Turns out that may be a myth, anyway.)

But then I found this article on saving battery life. Tip #4 was the eye-opener — to have an always-on email push would certainly be a drain on my battery. And besides, I spend 5/7 of my week at the office, where my laptop already tells me how far behind I’m getting on email. I changed over to manually fetch email.

If I recall correctly, that’s when a light shone down from the heavens.

First of all, it worked, and battery performance is remarkably better. But as importantly, this also means my email icon won’t update to show me how many new emails are waiting. And without that reminder that I’m always needed, I’m not constantly checking it.

Instead, I’m spending time with my family, or reading, or living life. When I know I have a few minutes, I can open the email app, which will update with new email, and I can respond to them on my terms.

Seems a little silly to feel like I’ve won a battle over my phone. But hey, it’s a smart phone. And while there are exceptions, there are many fewer weeknight interruptions when I’m playing with my kids or talking with my wife. Big win.

The change didn’t just make a dramatic impact on my battery life; it made an impact on MY life.