We don't know where sports comes from. It is everywhere, anywhere we might look to find it, but also it does not exactly have a home. It arrives from nowhere in particular and finds us. If it is a thing you want to find, you do not need to buy a ticket. It will reach you.
You will be driving, maybe, in some dusty country, and there it will be. Sprinting up, shrieking in some characteristically ostrich-ian way, and then sprinting past. It is on its own journey, loose in the world and ridiculous as of course it must and should be. There it goes.
The hope is that we get to see it for just a moment, ostrich-sprinting down a third-world highway for a few seconds while the most ridiculous song on the extremely ridiculous Scarface soundtrack plays. What more could we possibly hope for? What else is there even to want?