There is something magical about sports, something that draws us in, that can't be put into words. As I was watching game one of the Bulls-Pacers playoff series, that magic happened. Witnessing Derrick Rose and the Bulls fight their way back in the final minutes to steal the first game was an incredible moment. I was leaping up and down, silently screaming at my TV (I didn't want to disturb other people on my floor), punching my couch, resisting the urge to throw and break things, and pounding the air with my fists.
During those moments I was reminded of how much a player, a team, and/or a sport can have on someone. There I was, going berserk over some silly game. Why? Why should I care so much, and why should invest my emotions so heavily into something as ridiculous as a basketball game? I know a number of people who couldn't care about the results of any basketball game at all. To them, rooting that hard and caring that much doesn't make sense, and I'm a bit of a weirdo for it.
After watching the Bulls pull out that miraculous comeback, the feeling of vindication was overwhelming. The euphoria was overpowering, intoxicating. It's a kind of high, really. A feeling of pure, blissful joy, a feeling that doesn't come around too often. After you pour your heart and soul into a team or an athlete, nothing is sweeter than that sense of victory and accomplishment. I think it has something to do with the fact that, as a fan and an observer, you can share with the team. You put so much into that team that they become a part of you, an extension of your desire to win.
I sometimes wonder why I subject myself to all the emotional torment and torture that comes with being a diehard sports fan, knowing that when my team loses it's the worst, most depressing feeling in the world. When my team loses, I have a thousand things running through my head, none of them good. I want to curl up and cry, I want to break everything I can get my hands on, I want the opponent's fans to to feel as bad as I do, I want to hate my team for losing and never root for them again, I want to hate myself for bringing this upon myself. Then the next game starts, and I do it all again, because when they win, it's all worth it.
You know those people who do the tough and ugly jobs, the ones where there's seemingly no reward for all the mercilessly exhaustive work they put in? The jobs where we all wonder why someone in their right mind would do that to themselves every day? But then they'll show you something, something that, to them, makes it all worthwhile. That thing they show you might not make sense to you, but it does to them. It's why they do what they do. And in a similar fashion, it's why diehards like me do what we do.
Until next time, Orange Hat Guy
No comments:
Post a Comment