Post Spoiled Sport
18th January 2010
The thing about rooting for a team, any team—and I originally cared about the San Diego Chargers because (1) Marty Schottenheimer coached them and (2) my son lived there—is that you have some focal point for what is, in essence, a fabulously fickle endeavor.
I mean, here are millionaires competing against millionaires on behalf of billionaires and media moguls. So why should it matter to me to wear powder blue or #21 on a Sunday afternoon and feel sad when they lose? Were they playing for you?
Yes, in a sense. First, it’s vicarious fun to pretend to have something resting on a team’s victory, even if they could care less if you are following them. Second, it’s fun to think of a rival you wish you vanquish, even if the teams don’t even play in your vicinity. Third, you do have associations with certain teams and players that transcend the immediate presence and register personal loyalties and memories between you and your sons and daughter.
Fourth, when your team is playing one of your family’s teams—like the Jets yesterday, and next week, the Colts—you have appropriately mixed emotions, but really you can’t lose. If your team doesn’t win, your loved one’s does. Finally, there are some nice touches and ironies to some games. Yesterday, Brian Schottenheimer, Marty’s son, coached the offense against the team that unceremoniously fired his dad three years ago after a 14-2 season:
Marty’s boy, Brian, the offensive coordinator of the Jets, had just done his part Sunday orchestrating an offense with a rookie quarterback and a rookie running back into an upset of the Chargers that left the locals just as deflated as they were in 2006. And as a light rain fell on this crumbling place, Brian took out his cell phone, dialed his dad’s number, heard him say, “Hello,” and son said to father: “Dad, this one’s for you.” (Peter King, SI)
Thanks, Brian. I like that. And I love the idea that dads and sons and daughters have this bond, this connection that all sports lovers understand. A common team, an affection for certain colors, and a Sunday afternoon of watching or listening together, even if a continent apart. It’s the communion of saints, the communion of sports, the joy of victory and the agony of defeat, shared in the expectation that next season we’ll all get our chance again.
Giants*, Jets, Cavs, Chargers, Indians, Browns, Astros, Texans, Colts, Brewers, Padres. Go team(s)! Someday soon, we’ll win.
*At least the venerable Giants won a Super Bowl while we were all watching!
NLCS
Since the beisbol season is long over with, and the Padres and Indians playing their best rookies, and the Astros looking for somebody under 30 who can hit or pitch, it’s time to turn attention to my NFL predictions for 2009-10.
Did you ever notice trends in baseball surnames? Once upon a time, it seemed every star was named Alou, Mota, Rodriguez, or Yazstremski. (Ok, maybe not Yazstremski.) A preponderance of certain surnames in any one era could pose a Buckaroo-Banzai-like conspiracy dilemma (Were they all born on October 31st and named “John”? Any named Big Booty?)