Thoughts on listening to Burzum

The fifth song on “Sol Austan, Mani Vestan,” Burzum’s 10^th album is so breathtaking and angelic, it’s hard to fathom the guy who wrote it is deranged and delusional. How could someone so vile create such beauty?

Varg Vikernes, the sole member of the black metal band Burzum, is a murderer and church-burner, a racist and paranoid man who shouldn’t be idolized, and yet I can listen to his music and be so swept up in its emotionality I sometimes forget it’s the music of a disturbed individual. This central conflict, the man versus the music, is tough for me to wander through. Burzum brings me emotional releases I’ve never felt before, and does so in ways I haven’t gotten from similar bands. I know people who won’t listen to Burzum, who don’t want to support a violent and anti-Semitic individual. Which makes perfect sense. I agree with this view, and I respect people who avoid listening to Burzum on these grounds. Yet I can’t bring myself to actually turn the music off.

A presupposition I’ve accepted as a fan of Burzum is this, to put it simply: VARG VIKERNES  IS A FUCKED UP, AWFUL HUMAN BEING WHO DESERVES NO SYMPATHY BECAUSE HE IS A MONSTER. Clear enough? I’m not writing in defense of Varg (who I honestly believe has severe mental health issues that have aided in his atrocities), I’m writing more so to understand with why I can’t turn the music off.

I can vividly remember the moment when I first listened to Burzum. I had just finished watching “Until the Light Takes Us,” a fascinating documentary on the Norwegian black metal scene of the early 1990s. The title itself is an English translation of Burzum’s third album, “Hvis lyset tar oss,” which Varg explains in the film to mean being sucked up and ensnared by Christian society (the “light,” in this case). Varg would rather embrace the dark, where he sees true freedom and spirituality to be. (Note: Varg’s also very anti-Christian. He burned churches because he believes Christianity uprooted the ancient Norse culture that existed before Christianity reached Scandinavia. He thinks his actions are therefore symbolic. I think he’s full of shit and that church-burning is disgusting).

Since the documentary took its name from that album, I chose it as my starting point for delving into Burzum. I had never liked black metal before that point, as it seemed to me as nothing more than semi-organized noise. Lo-fi production, cringe-worthy vocals, with nothing memorable about it. Yet when the drums kicked in at the 2:48 mark, I found myself in a whole new world. That drumming pattern may likely be permanently engrained into my memory. The following riffs and overlain synths built up with incredible atmosphere of despair and angst. Soon the vocals follow, screeching, animalistic, incomprehensible howls. Pure, unfiltered, unrestrained, raw, bare. The essence of ennui.

This was strange and new to me. I dug more into Burzum’s discography, with the same results. Burmum’s black metal has impacted me more than any other BM band (though that could change as the blackgaze scene continues to develop). With the exception of “the “Aske” EP and half the songs off “Daudi Baldrs,” I don’t think Burzum has a single bad album (note: I haven’t listened to “From the Depths of Darkness,” because he just re-recorded old, pre-imprisonment songs that I don’t think need to be re-recorded). “Sol Austan, Mani Vestan” is another triumph, in my eyes. A bit long and repetitive, but its quiet minimalism relative to those charging drums and shrieks (SAMV is, like Burzum’s two other ambient works, an instrumental album) of “Hvis lyset tar oss” is a part of that.

Ambient music (specifically dark ambient) has been a part of Burzum since it began. Moody synthesizers fill the background of most Burzum songs, and there are a handful of entirely ambient songs sprinkled throughout most of the pre-prison album. “Daudi Baldrs” was the first attempt at a complete dark ambient album (though at that point he’s recorded enough ambient material for his pre-prison work to fill up a whole record), and given that recording whilst imprisoned is probably going to make the process quite challenging, it was pretty hit or (a very wide) miss with each song. “Hlidskjalf,” the second prison-made dark ambient album, was, on the other hand, a masterpiece.

“Sol Austan, Mani Vestan,” is another haunting, dark ambient masterpiece. This time recorded post-prison, the album quietly yet strongly evokes images and feelings of walking slowing through bare trees in a snowy wood, the moon overhead, with the silence of the chill air wrapped around you. There’s so much emptiness in the scene: the plants have died along with the leaves, all the birds have gone south, and the stillness from the lack of anything alive is baiting, But it quickly fills up with wonder about how there’s still so much beauty left, despite being bereft of life. It’s strange to feel so comfortable in such a place. This is the essence of what I emotionally achieve from the music of Burzum.

I can identify with the ennui/angst Varg no doubt feels, but not their causes. Am I allowed to do that? Is it ok to twist and reinterpret his music to suit my own wants? Is it immoral to listen to Burzum no matter what? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. And I don’t like that I don’t know.

I haven’t justified listening to Burzum, not to myself or to anyone else. I simply put it off and keep listening. Don’t take this writing as my trying to justify listening to Burzum and/or supporting Varg. It’s not meant to be. Varg is a monster who does not deserve to have his views supported or promoted. How can someone so monstrous make something so angelic and beautiful? I don’t know why I can’t turn the music off.

Star Trek Into Darkness and the problems with the Abramsverse

SPOILERS AHEAD

The whole goddamn internet is inevitably going to be filled up with debates, arguments, and all-out flame wars as Team Abrams and Team Not Abrams butt heats over Star Trek Into Darkness. It has its faults (this is, after all, Abrams/Lindelof/Kurtzman/Orci we're talking about), and it's also laudable for being a fun, well-paced, action-packed sci-fi adventure.

This is going to be an argument critical of Into Darkness. At least, into terms of story and the Roddenverse/Abramsverse Star Treks. I'll preface with a few things: As a twisting, plot-spinning action film, ID was a good film. Non-stop action, compelling villains, and no random Tyler Perry cameos. Second preface: I'm a huge Trekkie whose first-ever exposure to Stark Trek was watching Wrath of Khan with my father when I was about eight. I've been to conventions, can cite random pointless facts (the Vulcan equivalent of teddy bears are basically gigantic live spiders, for example), and am able to curse in Klingon.

In other words, I'm slightly biased.

My approach to movies is two-fold: what it is, and what it can be. The final product versus the potential. ID is an Abrams product: flashy story-telling that ultimately lacks substance. ID's potential was that of "The City on the Edge of Forever," "The Best of Both Worlds," or "In The Pale Moonlight." (I know, very high standards, but nonetheless achievable). That's the story potential of Star Trek, to be (very overly) blunt. Instead, we wound up with a quasi adaptation of Space Seed/Wrath of Khan. Which is fine, I suppose. Khan's a cool character, and seeing Benedict Cumberbatch reimagine him is worth the price of admission. But it's not very creative to a Trekkie like me. Abrams has a whole canon-free universe to operate in, and yet all he does is rehash a couple of elements from Space Seed and WoK.

At least Abrams-universe Klingons have cool body armor, I guess?

Khan Noonien Singh was undoubtedly the best TOS villain. He had a clear backstory and fantastic arc culminating in WoK. The Abramsverse, in my opinion, doesn't need its own Khan. Nor does it need its own Locutus of Borg or Gul Dukat. The only reimagination is that of Montalban's regal, power-hungry Khan being replaced with a brooding and predictably double-crossing Khan. Cumberkhan was also more of the recently popular trope of"cerebral big bad who's always two steps ahead of the protagonist until the third act," which isn't really keeping with Montalkhan's gladiatorial bravado. A few trains of thought: Cumberkhan is a reimagination of the character, and Cumberkhan is Khan in name only. Both of these seem to lead me to one conclusion: why have Khan at all? Montalkhan is a very compelling character in its own. Why adapt that character for the Abramsverse? Sure, the concept of genetically engineering human beings is rife with rich, philosophical quandaries, so that element of Khan's makeup is (multi)universal, but genetic engineering shouldn't necessitate a Roddenverse-specific character to make the (quantum) leap into the Abramsverse. The villain from Abrams' first Star Trek was (initially) interesting because we had no idea who Nero was or why he was fucking shit up. (Turns out he was fairly one-dimensional, sadly).

This is what irks me, that Abrams thinks he's doing a fan service by tying in Roddenverse characters, but all he ends up doing is forcing poor Zachary Quinto to be the unfortunate soul who screams "KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!" because that line also, for some reason, needed to cross over from the Roddenverse to the Abramsverse. The plot also mimics some of WoK: specifically when [Kirk/Spock] needs to fix the technobable by technobabling in the radiation-filled chamber, knocks out McCoy, and shares a heart-felt deathbye with [Kirk/Spock]. That just strikes me as lazy writing: lifting a powerful, emotional moment that was heart-breaking in WoK and flipping characters' places (and come on, we all knew Kirk wasn't going to be dead for good). And all those cheap feels because Abrams' Cumberkhan is running around.

Remember when Scotty straight resigned in protest due to those special torpedoes? Or how Kirk came about to realizing due process outweighed vengeance? (Both of which TOTALLY aren't analogous for drone warfare, obviously) I wanted more of that from Abrams, because it showed me he and his writing team are capable of grasping relevant moral and philosophical elements of today's complicated world rather than rewriting other people's stories that don't need retelling.

Enslaved's RIITIIR and the personal nature of black metal

I saw Enslaved a few weeks ago, the same show where I saw Royal Thunder, and it was a great show. The band played most of RIITIIR, which is their latest album, and the only album of theirs I was really familiar with. (I had originally planned to go see Royal Thunder and Pallbearer, with Enslaved being an afterthought, a band I wasn't at all familiar with). The first time I tried to listen to RIITIIR (and I mean it when I say "tried") I think turned it off after about halfway through the second song. It came off as bizarre and obnoxious. But that may have been back in October, before I had my black metal epiphany. So when I went back to listen to RIITIIR after buying my ticket, I was surprised to see how much I liked it. It wasn't bizarre and obnoxious, it was progressive and ambitious. "Thoughts Like Hammers" starts off like any normal song would, until the dueling vocals show up, mixing clean singing with black metal growls while still maintaining melody and atmosphere. And the rest of the album followed suit.

***

Immortal and Mayhem were among the first two black metal bands I ever listened to. It was actually for a class on rock history and not through my own exploring, and I really did not like the vocals. Harsh, ugly shouts that came nowhere close to what vocals should sound like. Yeah, they're meant to sound demonic and inhuman. They exemplify the chaotic nature of black metal. But anything more than two minutes of that was too much, and so those bands sat on the back burner once that section of the rock history class had passed. Now, it seems like it's impossible to go more than a day without putting on something that screeches and claws both yours ears and something deeper. I think it's that primal, instinctive reaction to shrieks and growls that drives them. Those sounds aren't made naturally or willfully. Whether the growls are more aligned with anger, or aligned with despair, the underlying connection is human suffering.

Human suffering is a common topic in music, though it isn't always raw in the way that black metal is. The non metal approach utilizes clean vocals with lyrics that hold the weight, where stories are recounted that touch upon relatable circumstances, settings, and characters. Songs have more specific meanings, which isn't to say there's no room for reinterpretation, but that emphasis on lyrics is, for me, the dividing line as to my preferences. With harsh vocals and growls, and with the emphasis of vocals over actual lyrics, there is more room for me to reinterpret and redefine song on a personal level. For example, as much as I love Springsteen's Thunder Road and the angst-ridden theme of escape, I don't have a car I can jump into, and can't trade in wings for wheels, go pick up Mary, or drive as far away as I can from anywhere while it's dusk outside. And even though that's a story with relatable feelings, they all stem from something specific in Springsteen's words. You can't ignore him when he talks about cars.

I think The Passenger by Iggy Pop is the number one played song on my computer, but I couldn't tell you all the lyrics. I've been listening to Bruce Springsteen since forever, and I still stumble over the second verse to Thunder Road. I grew up ignoring the printed lyrics that accompanied CDs, mostly because I knew enough to know that the situations Springsteen would be singing about would be over my head when I'm 10. "Wrap your limbs around these velvet rims and strap your hands across my engines" from Born to Run didn't hit me the first few thousand times I heard it. Now it changes the complexion of the song from that mystery meaning my naive youthfulness assigned it to something much more straightforward. Contrast that with Det Som En Gang Var by Burzum, Anarchic (Side A) by Skagos, or In the Constellation of the Black Widow by Anaal Nathrakh. The latter is a blackened grindcore band that intentionally don't publish their lyrics, and it's impossible to make out what they're saying. Which is perfect if you're someone who doesn't check the lyrics of songs. And while the other two songs have known lyrics, they don't matter. No one pays much attention to lyrics in metal. (Case in point: Korpiklaani). Sure, the choruses to songs by Amon Amarth, Wintersun, and Blind Guardian are understandable and fun to sing along with, but there's the inherent recognition that the words are just a placeholder for something more introspective and self-defined.

Those first two songs do have lyrics you can look up (note: one of them's in Norwegian). Det Som En Gang Var is the opening track to Burzum's Hvit lysett tar oss album, which is my personal favorite among Burzum's discography. It's hard to even really call the vocals "singing" because they are basically screams devoid of melody and indecipherable. But not indecipherable enough to hear the emotion coming from within those screams. "Emotion" coming through in black metal may seem contrary to its definition (cold, frozen, dark, bleak) but there's undoubtedly raw, visceral negative emotions that immerse themselves into the backbone of the music. And it's more subjective than a Springsteen song. Take Skagos' Anarchic (Side A): a sweeping, sprawling 23-minute masterpiece of 3rd wave/Cascadian black metal. There are elements of shoegaze and dream pop at points, creating an atmosphere akin to a cold, foggy morning somewhere quiet and solitary. The vocals sound of something in despair, a bitter sense of regret and loss. That's just what I think when I listen to it, but I like that these songs have more room for me to assign my own meaning. Hooray for existentialism in black metal!

***

There's a weird place I go to when I put on a metal album. It's where the music becomes more than what it is, more than simply the combination of instrumentation from a bunch of people. The collective final product goes far beyond human capacity for creating such a soundscape. It's ethereal and mysterious, and laves me wondering where such a sound could come from. Those inhuman shrieks are a part of that. Think about the only time a person would make those noises. None of them is pleasant. The idea that someone could willingly pour that out of them is hard for me to wrap my head around. Those voices have to come from some dark place. It's as if these musicians are actors, putting on a mask and slipping into characters who have encountered such pain and suffering that they cry out in this primordial fashion. I don't know many of the musicians I listen to. I may recognize a few names and faces, but I at most I could tell you where they're from, and that's it, because it would be distracting. The music isn't about them, it's about those characters you hear perform. I'm nervous about ever going to see Agalloch live, because I'm afraid it could reveal that facade.

I was wondering what would happen when Enslaved took the stage, because I was afraid I'd only be able to experience them as a couple of guys playing instruments and not the characters from their albums. That nightmare didn't happen. They tapped into whatever source musicians tap into when they go from regular person to genius artist, and those five guys on stage are now a cohesive unit, almost a superorganism. A unique feature of Enslaved is how they mix both traditional black metal vocals and clean vocals into their songs, sometimes creating harmonies and duets that subvert everything I've been talking about. Which is cool in a Jekyll/Hyde kind of way. By blending these two forms together, there's a more direct acknowledgment of their inherent differences, and that they can coexist. Enslaved also happens to utilize three different vocalists, meaning these voices spread out, instead of coming from the same source (bands with clean vocals and death growls tend have one vocalist do both parts). Maybe this is looking too much into it, but I like this multi-vocalist concept because it drives home the schizophrenia of clean/harsh contrasts (I always imagine bands with both harsh and clean vocals to be examining the narrator's internal struggles through this musical device).

***

Enslaved killed it, by the way. Just in case you were still waiting on a review of their performance after reading all that.

Royal Thunder @ Reggie's 2/3/13

Drown

Whispering World

Minus

Blue

No Good

I think that was the set list. There may have been one more song at the end, but regardless it wasn't Shake and Shift. Still, pretty killer. And I didn't even like Minus before they played it. Drown was the first Royal Thunder song I ever heard, way back in September or whenever it was when fortune led me to discover the CVI album. And of course they went straight to Whispering World after their opener, because it's a perfect second song. Second spot on the album and second spot on their set list. Then the aforementioned Minus. Then the hypnotic Blue. Then No Good. Then one more maybe? Couldn't place it, though it probably was either Sleeping Witch or Black Water Vision (I don't think it was a song from their EP).

And then they were done. Far too short a time, but understandable when you get third billing.

***

Royal Thunder is from Atlanta, and you can really hear some of that Southern rock in No Good. But they're also a bit psychedelic (go check out Blue). And possibly doom metal, if spiraling riffs and bluesy passages count (they're certainly not traditional doom that slowly crawls note by note). The term "atmosphere" is thrown onto the sounds of bands a lot, sometimes justified and sometimes not. It is here, in both Royal Thunder's debut album CVI, and in their live show. Still would have loved to hear Shake and Shift, though.

Deservingly so, Royal Thunder has gotten a lot of hype from the metal community since releasing their debut album in 2012. And definite praise. It's been on heavy circulation for me since first hitting play on the song Drown on RT's bandcamp. And since seeing them, I can't go more than a few hours without a listen. I even made a playlist of their set list (with an empty sixth spot waiting to be filled if I can ever figure out what the closer was, unless it indeed was No Good and I was too lost in the performance to notice). CVI was on practically every list focused on the best metal albums of 2012 (as arbitrary as those lists may be, still something to be proud of), and for a debut LP, the album is a remarkable accomplishment. (If you listen to their debut EP, you'll notice just how large a step they made.)

The band is fronted by Mlny Parsonz (that's a lowercase L, for those of you scoring at home) on bass guitar and vocals. Parsonz has a deep, soulful voice that resonates just as deeply as the rest of the music. Vocals tend to be put on the back burner for most metal bands, but not Parsonz' voice, which can go from a haunting whisper to an overpowering scream that makes your hair stand up (from their power, not in the screechy Quint-from-Jaws-scraping-his-fingernails-down-a-chalkboard way). It's hard not to get lost in her voice, especially when she rises up and belts something out moody (a bit of a stretch, but think Adele, were she from the South, in terms of emotional vocal resonance).

Then there's the rest of the band: Josh Weaver on guitar and Jesse Stuber on drums. The most noticeable thing (or perhaps the least noticeable) thing about the drumming is how it adds to the atmosphere. Royal Thunder has a lot of songs that build and build to stunning climaxes, only to then drop back to trance-like ambient passages. Cymbals pop up during those trance passages, gently and quietly adding an eerie ringing to the background, before the drums rev up as the music swells. They sit in the background until, all of the sudden, they're right there, and you didn't even notice.

Guitarwise, Weaver is excellent crafting psychedelic riffs and distorted solos that don't try to impress you with technical proficiency or speed. That might sound like criticism, but it's not. The guitar isn't trying to impress you, or act all like "look at me! I'm a guitar! I make awesome noises!" The guitar work flows with the music, showing a devotion to building intricate waves of bluesy doom that goes hand in hand with the rest of the band, balancing perfectly Parsonz' bass work (which is excellent, especially live). I actually met Weaver at the merch table when I bought a shirt. Got to shake his hand and tell him how excited I was to get to see Royal Thunder.

***

Drown

The first song I ever heard by Royal Thunder was Drown, and it had me instantly hooked. Fitting, then, that it would be the first song the band played. I love long songs that build and build to a point where it all comes crashing down in a wave of noise. It's akin to a journey, with an intricate amount of craftsmanship and elegance poured in. It's not about a hook or a chorus, it's about the whole song, each part feeding the next. Drown starts out slow and heavy, a guitar quietly strumming a few dark notes, Parsonz sings just above a whisper, and the drummer softly taps on his snare and cymbals. Then, after Parsonz croons some brooding lyrics for a few minutes, the wave hits. A driving guitar line backed by furious drumming leads into Parsonz kicking it up a notch, showing the power of her voice. A brief swell drops back into that quiet beginning before again hitting the gas pedal and flying into a a couple furious minutes of wailing guitar and bass. Finally we're laid to rest, as it all comes to a standstill while Parsonz sings a dirge during the closing minute.

Whispering World

Again, apt choice. It's the second song on the album, and it's the second song on the night's set list. Unlike Drown, it's not a builder. It hits you right from the first note, a heavy, moody song with a steady tempo and some true anger in Parsonz voice. She flat out screams, bitterness staining every syllable. I don't always care about the lyrics in metal songs, but I can't ignore the words to Whispering World.

"I knew you were wrong/but I just let you break me"

Parsonz is on another level during those lines, channeling some raw emotions. Much of the rest of the lyrics are about having escaped whatever shit sparked this, a triumphant exclamation of freedom. There are some really killer guitar riffs as well, and an overflow that's both heavy and catchy. The song shows off Parsonz' lyrical abilities as well as the emotional range of her vocals.

Minus

Speaking of raw emotions, this quiet soliloquy pairs perfectly with Whispering World. Unlike the vitriol of WW, Minus is sad and somber. There are no screams and no riffs, but the exact same passion as before. I didn't "get" this song until I heard them play it, and that's likely due to them putting it right after WW. While WW is more along the likes of a "fuck you"-type breakup song, Minus is a humble one, maybe even an apologetic one. Not something you'd expect from a band that excels at Southern blues psychedelia.

Blue

Then there's Blue. It's a beautiful, spiraling song that builds and builds and never lets up. There aren't any vocals for the first three-and-a-half minutes (there's a music video for it, and when I watched it for the first time I thought it was an instrumental track), as you're simply swept up by hypnotic guitar playing and an equally hypnotic bass line. Just imagine ISIS (danger zone!), but with a druggy feel to it.   Or perhaps a modernized song by The Doors. Opening with drums, guitars wailing for days, Parsonz' voice crooning along with the music in a wonderfully trippy way, and it all lasts for ten minutes. With perfect flow, no less, which is brought out when played live. All three band members are bouncing off each other, Weaver's grooving on his side of the stage, Parsonz' swaying to the beat, and Stuber holding the rhythm line to some heavy acid rock. They make it feel like the song stretches out for days, endlessly floating and curving through pockets of blue sky and clouds.

No Good

Probably the best example of that Southern rock flair to their music. The main riffs of the song are very, very bluesy. This is Royal Thunder's other short (read: < six minutes) but hard rockin' song (Minus is about two minutes, but it's more of an ambient track). To me, this song is all about the guitar work, because Parsonz' vocal melodies all come from the energizing guitar melodies (or perhaps vice versa, but either way the guitar wins out). Though I think it's rightful place is where it is on the album (it precedes Blue on the album, and the flow from No Good to Blue is perfectly synched, almost like they're one song), but since Royal Thunder killed every song up to that point, I didn't notice the change.

***

There must have been at least one more song on their set list, but I can't find a set list anywhere. But maybe that was it, and I just didn't want it to be over. In any event, it was a phenomenal show. Royal Thunder has a great future ahead of them. I can't wait to see what's in store. So go get their album CVI  and go see them live if you can. I'll be writing about Enslaved's set later on, so stay tuned.

The definition of a sports fan

No one has an obligation to be a sports fan. It's that simple. No secret handshakes, no over-the-top requirements to show your commitment to a cause. You show up to a game, put on a jersey, or merely check the paper the next day for the final score and you're in the club. The diehards might not accept you into their little self-indulgent treehouse, but who needs them? Who says their word is final? There's no rhyme or reason to it, no logic, and no requirements. I'm a Cubs fan, Bears fan, Bulls fan, and Blackhawks fan. I can remember Carlos Marmol knocking out Brewers hitters like it was yesterday: slider, fastball, fastball, fastball, slider, strike out. I can imitate Derrick Lee's swing to perfection: right-handed, open stance, bat between a 90 and 180 degree angle, and a major leg sweep to get the timing right. Derrick Lee hasn't worn a Cubs uniform in years. Craig Krenzel to Bernard Berrian for 49 yards and a TD? In my mind it happened yesterday, not eight years ago. $100 for a Toews jersey? Absolutely worth it. Without question.

That's the power of fandom. Plain and simple.

There isn't a test you pass to become a diehard for your cause, and there's no badge that you can betray. No one has questioned my credentials as a Cubs fan, nor have I questioned theirs.  You claim to be a Cubs fan? Then you're a Cubs fan until you say otherwise. The satisfaction the each of us receives from victories may not be the same, nor the stinging pain of defeat, but we've invested in both of those things. When I first discovered baseball, I was a White Sox fan. Why? No reason. None whatsoever, aside from them being from Chicago. Then I went to a Cubs game and changed my mind. I was 12, and haven't changed my mind since. No one makes rational decisions when they're 12. You're in middle school, just started to hit puberty, and have barely begun to grasp the idea that competition is the perfect outlet for everything, even if you don't know why you're so damn competitive. Even losing to relatives at a board game sucks.

But fans, diehard, casual, in middle school, what have you, are just that: fans. With jobs and lives outside of the ticker on the bottom of the screen during SportsCenter. On top of the never-ending daily grind of working 40 or more hours a week, dealing with the barrage of school work, coming home to personal problems, or putting up with shit I can't even begin to fathom, people still tune into sports. I've spent so much time watching games that I've likely wasted years fully grasping zone defenses or what to throw in a 2-2 count when the only pitches in your repertoire are breaking balls and fastballs. I could have spent that time studying AP U.S. History or Microeconomics. And yet I planted myself in front of the television, day after day, game after game, for reasons I can't articulate.

For some reason geography is the basis of almost all sports fandom, and no one questions that. I am a Cubs fan who originally rooted for the White Sox because they were from Chicago. I changed allegiances to the Cubs because they too were from Chicago. Just physically (in terms of ballparks) closer. (Also maybe because their uniforms had actual colors. But I honestly don't remember why I fell in love with baseball, or with the White Sox, or with the Cubs. I grew attached to the Red Sox because I had family in Boston. Likewise, I have family who don't like in the Midwest yet call the Cubs their #2 because of us in the Midwest who do call the Cubs our team.

I've suffered through painful defeats, depressing eras that have lasted years, championships, and everything in between, but I've never abandoned any team that becomes a part of my life's blood. I've been so angry at these teams that I've thrown things, broken things, and thrown gear away. Screams, tears, jubilation, sobs, exhilaration, you name it and I've done it in the name of fandom. Hell, a god damn video game commercial that simulated Cubs fans celebrating a World Series victory made me tear up. Nothing makes me tear up. That's not hyperbole. I just don't break into tears. And yet slipping into a dream where I'm in Wrigleyville, surrounded by lifelong Cubs fans, as that team wins it all has me fucking bawling my eyes out. IT WAS A GOD DAMN VIDEO GAME COMMERCIAL.

And so we boo them sometimes. We put them on these immeasurable pedestals that project this superhuman image of athleticism that's so out of our league it becomes a form of escapism so strong we don't even recognize it as escapism. It's beyond escapism, above the silliness of getting lost in a book, TV show, or band. It's so engrained in society that diehards are completely accepted, unlike Trekkies and Tolkien lovers. Pouring your heart and soul out into a team is expected. And winning a championship is considered so far beyond anything, it eclipses every other single emotion combined. More than love, more than hate, more than anything. Absolutely anything. When our team loses, that escapism is broken and ruined, an ugly punch to the gut that throws so many negative emotions in our faces we can't think straight, because we give them so much weight relative to everything else in our lives. And so we boo them sometimes.

It's a double-edged sword, fans and athletes. Fans owe players nothing. Players owe fans nothing. I choose to be a fan of a particular team because of geography and the stupid idea that the emotional roller coaster is worth the ride. Players play because they get paid to. Ideally they play to win a championship, because that's how sports is framed: play like a champion and win it all. But simply playing the game is their job. Don't confuse the job with this false idolatry. Winning it all is what the archetypal sports myth is all about, but we don't live in a world of myths and ideals. We live in a world with men and women, both on and off the field.