Mentality of a Sports Fan

Its Thursday, September 1st. I'm at work. I specially mention this because obviously, if I'm at work and I'm writing this, it must be work related, because only slackers do other things when there's work to do at work. But once the work at work is done, and I start getting paid to stare at a screen, I start to look for sources of internet entertainment. The first is my email. The second is Facebook. The third is an exhaustive search of every sports journalists' dead-horse-beating opinion article, thrice-rehashed quote from the coach or a player, and pointless reexamination of the offensive and defensive match-ups for every team on the schedule for the rest of the season.

And I eat it up.

I know the player's weights, heights, years, numbers, and often individual plays they made last year. I spent an indecently mispreportionate period of time carefully putting them all in their two-deep roster on my game console. I can rattle off the schedule by opponent and date (even if its just 'TBA'). I spend time watching old games by current coaches and former players and similar situations to get some idea of how it might run, what plays will be played. It all takes a pretty large amount of time I could have spent writing ten novels and a thousand blogs.

How did it get this way?

I didn't grow up a sports fan. Playing them was fun, when I wasn't disheartened by my lack of coordination, but the fan-ship did not set sail until I became a college student. All of a sudden, I had a Team. I had someone to root for. I didn't understand many of the rules of the sport, besides a lot of hitting and basics of throwing and catching, but I knew that when My Team knuckled down and fought, and struggling, snatched victory from the jaws of the foe and sent 65,000 roaring to their feet, that I was up and roaring with them.

This is why I stick to singing base on Sunday mornings.

It took longer for me then some, but sports drew me in. Men, especially, are drawn to sports. Its the permeating existence of competition, the adrenaline-inducing rush brought on by two forces colliding, never wholly certain of the outcome, and then throwing in with one side, coming to the point where they are YOUR Team, where you throw in your heart and soul to their side, where you start using esoteric terms like "faith" and "belief" in reference to comebacks and scoreboards. You refuse to believe that the Team can't still win. You even refuse to believe it after they've already lost.

Victory, especially a close one, is a rush; possibly causing week-long, completely drug-free euphoria. Defeat, once finally admitted, causes fundamental, illogical, near-irreversible angst and depression. The only thing that cures it is the next game, the next victory, and those with grit sometimes can wait it out when its a long time in coming. To others, enough of these defeats and they become disenchanted, distance themselves, and choose to ignore their team when it does not do well. Its a very understandable reaction. People learn to shut out pain, and pain is deeper when caused by things that you cherish. This is what we call a fair-weather fan.

Those people suck.


Understandable, yes. Condonable, no way.

This coming weekend heralds the start of another season. TVs are being purchased. Cable contacts are being signed. The smell of barbecue and grass; the thrum of people moving, watching, debating; stands made of wood, metal, and plastic, and whatever other uncomfortable materials that can be found; and the aching need for struggle and vindication are all here. All that's missing is the main event.

Bring on the dead-horse-beating, the reexamination, and the rehashed quotes, because its all that there is to be had. Otherwise, I'm just left with the Wait.