Life & Place · A Decembers list

The games you watched happen right in front of you

You can still see it. The ball hanging longer than it should have, the whole section on its feet before it came down, the stranger next to you grabbing your arm like you'd known each other for years.

This is the list for the games you were actually there for. One line each, or more when a single afternoon earned it.

Add your first game

Free to start. Private from the first word.

Where this list lives

This is a list in Decembers — the place a life gets written down one question at a time.

Decembers asks the questions no one thought to ask, keeps the answers in one permanent Chronicle, and holds them on one Timeline that reads in order. You answer. Decembers does the writing.

Lists
A list for every kind of life, and every turn one takes. Pick one and start answering.
Timeline
Your answers arrange themselves in order. Seeing a whole life laid out this way is something else.
Inner Circle
Not social media. The few people you name are the only ones it is ever shared with.
See a sample Timeline

Begin with one list. The rest follows.

One line is enough

Write down one game — the seats, the score, who drove — and the rest come back on their own: the hot dog you overpaid for, the argument in the parking lot, the way nobody wanted to leave.

The box score remembers the final and the pitching change. It does not remember that you got there two hours early to watch batting practice, or that the guy behind you had a voice like a foghorn and called every play before it happened. It doesn't know your seats were obstructed and you didn't care, or that the game went long and you missed the last bus home and walked it, grinning the whole way.

Those details don't survive on their own. You tell the story at cookouts and it gets a little smoother each time, a little shorter. Written down, one game at a time, it stays the way it actually was — the cold, the noise, the person you went with. A book about it never gets written. A single line, jotted when the memory surfaces, does.

How it works

  1. 01

    Pick this list

    It’s waiting, already written. There is no blank page to face.

  2. 02

    Fill in what comes

    A year, a line, a photograph. Five minutes or an hour.

  3. 03

    Invite who was there

    They add what you forgot. You decide what stays.

  4. 04

    Share it, or don’t

    One quiet page for your Inner Circle. No link, no feed.

The games that keep coming up

The one nobody believed

The comeback that shouldn't have happened, the walk-off, the buzzer-beater from half court. You describe it and people assume you're exaggerating, but you were forty rows up and you saw it clean. Write down where you were sitting when it happened and who turned to you first.

The ones you went to for the company

Not every game you remember was a great game. Some you remember because of who drove, who packed the sandwiches, who you split a beer with. A rain delay with your brother beats a blowout alone. These belong here as much as the famous ones.

The firsts and the lasts

The first game your father took you to. The first one you took your own kid to. The last game in an old stadium before they tore it down. These mark time in a way the standings never will — note the year, and note who was beside you.

Sport by sport

Baseball
Summer afternoons, a scorecard filled in by hand, the organ between innings, and the long slow innings where nothing happened until suddenly everything did.
Football
The cold ones — hands stuffed in your sleeves, breath in the air, a thermos passed down the row, and a whole section standing for a fourth-down stop.
Basketball
Close enough to the floor to hear the sneakers and the players talking, the noise trapped under the roof, a run that flipped the whole building in ninety seconds.
Hockey
The chill off the ice reaching the stands, the crack of the glass, and a goal so fast you only knew it happened from the light and the roar.
College games
The band, the tailgate hours before kickoff, the rivalry you'd argued about all week, and a crowd that treated it like it mattered more than anything.
High school
Friday nights under the lights on the home field, half the town in the bleachers, and a kid you knew making the play everybody still brings up.

Other lists you may like

Start with any one of them. Every answer lands on the same Timeline.

Begin

A record of the afternoons and nights you spent in the stands

Start with the one you tell most often — the seats, the score, who you went with. The others will find their way onto the list from there.

Add your first game