There’s a sense of euphoria that has settled over yours truly these past few days. It’s that same brand of euphoria that White Sox fans have only begun to shake off, a mere seven months after their World Series Championship over the Houston Astros. And then there are teams, like the New Jersey Nets, that are left to stare into the skies above, questioning the Creator for his lack of compassion for a team’s ultimate destiny, that just wasn’t meant to be. Yet, no matter how often a sports franchise heads into the dismal dregs of a fruitless off-season at the expense of a fan’s broken heart, we always seem to come back for more. No matter how blatant our heroes’ spirit crushing performances may be, the sports fan will always return to their own personal mecca, shared by countless others that shed tears and wave towels by their side.
Why is it that we return, year after year, to a team that breaks our heart? Is our society that desperate to relish in pity and disappointment? If you crunch the numbers, statistically speaking, the odds that your team will reach the pearly gates of bliss, year in and year out, are pretty slim. Some people may point to the adversity that can be found (and overcome) in sports, but there are plenty of other forums out there in which to relish in the fierceness of competition and the miracles of our times. So what bring us back, time and time again? Are we mindless drones that find some sort of guilty pleasure in watching heroes among mortals sacrifice themselves for our own perverse enjoyment? Are we really this monotonous a society, or is there some sort of desire in the soul of a sports fan, to put yourself in a position to willingly encourage the adversities and pitfalls that rival human beings will hopefully face?
Why do we follow sports at all? That’s in case you missed the question earlier, of course.
Perhaps some things were meant to be left unanswered. That doesn’t make you feel better to just ignore the question, though, does it? Perhaps you’re thinking to yourself right now, why you’ve followed a particular team for so long. Sure, your parents brought you up that way, or you wanted to be like your friends, right? But why? Is there some sort of cosmic force out there that compels you to root for a team like there’s no tomorrow? Are we spontaneously nudged into the direction of one team over another? Is there really that big of a difference between Yankees fans and Red Sox fans, aside from the accents?
Maybe it isn’t about them against us, or you against me. Of course, a sports rivalry is like watching a Shakespearean masterpiece unfold in a setting that jocks could find enjoyment in. But maybe that isn’t all there is to being a sports fan. Having a good time at a game is one thing, but showing loyalty to one team; it’s the personification of one of our greatest traits as human beings: love. We love our teams, much like we love our friends and family. You don’t have to question why you love a group of guys or gals that you’ll likely never meet in a meaningful way. Loving a team means everything and nothing at the same time. It’s the rivalries and the camaraderie, the hometown boys and the giants of our time. When you fall in love, you don’t question why you found that special feeling. All you can do is embrace it, and relish every minute that it holds you in its grip. That’s why we follow sports, and why being a sports fan can mean more than most people realize. Jeff Dunham once equated relationships to drinking a slurpie, albeit in a slightly more comical way than I would use the expression. The sentiment is there, though. For all the sweetness in that cup, you’re always one sip away from that brain freeze. But that doesn’t stop you from sipping on that slurpie some more, does it?
I write this article on the heels of what could be the crowning achievement for professional sports in the state of North Carolina. I can’t speak for my fellow North Carolinians, since most people don’t talk like that anymore. I love my home for all its worth, despite what Patrick and I would have had you to believe way back when. I’m a mark for the Panthers, I actually attended a Charlotte Bobcats game while wearing my Larry Johnson Hornets jersey, and I quite literally cried when Stillman beat Huet from the blue line to advance the ‘Canes to the Conference semifinals. Call an ambulance if Carolina makes it to the Finals.
I’m not sure what it feels like to live in a town, let alone a state that tastes winning every few seasons. My Panthers have never won that final game, and the Bobcats are lucky to sniff 20 wins in a season. Sure, I had the Sox in 2004, but blue moons are rare around these parts. What I do know, though, is that I share a bond with each and every person that reads this website, even if its in passing. There is a team somewhere out there that belongs to someone. Forget the fact that a million other people may claim the Dallas Mavericks or the New England Revolution as their own team, because for that one moment when your boys and girls step onto the field of the proverbial battle, you just know that deep down, they’re playing for you. They’re playing for all of us, guys. And that, my friends, is why we follow sports.
Even if your team exists only to break your heart.
