Depressing as it may be, in my world, the kind of hat someone chooses to slap on their noggin tells me a lot about that individual.
If I run into a fella wearing a Detroit Tigers ball cap on Tuesday, and Toronto Blue Jays headgear Wednesday, I’ll judge them harshly, severely and critically and assume they have no soul. Because instead of a soul there’s only a dark pit of despair, pain and anguish.
Or they’re just not a baseball fan.
Overly dramatic on my part? Yes, absolutely, but call it the fan part of me. Call it the part of me who wishes we valued loyalty and love in sports like any other aspect of our lives.
Have you heard the commercials on TV or radio on how a marriage affects more than the two people involved? It’s about how two loving individuals are the foundation of a caring community. The commercials spread the idea that if we value each other and the commitment we make to one another, our children can grow up in a more nurturing atmosphere.
Sounds like a good idea to me. Heck, it’s even why I’ll ignore the fact that on my DVR at home, my wife recorded a show called “My teen is pregnant and so am I.” Why do we pay for television again?
Anyway, the idea about marriage and staying married, finding ways to remain together makes sense, intrinsically, at a deep level. And this next point might sound crazy, nearly as nuts as that television show, but it sure seems that if people committed to their teams and remained true, we’d all be better off.
Not that there’s anything wrong with yelling at your team when it does something stupid — like, you know, signs Tim Tebow — but doesn’t it say something about an individual who’s committed to his ball club, football team or alma mater through the highs and lows, the wins and losses, the arrests and plea bargains that all sports fans can identify with?
When you stuff yourself inside a stadium with thousands of other strangers pulling for the same team, don’t you feel a sense of camaraderie, of kinship, sitting there cheering for a group of players you don’t know and never will? You’ll never see the guy with face paint smeared all over his face again, but tell me he’s not the coolest dude in the world when you’re high-fiving after your team’s running back rattled off a big touchdown run.
How many other places in our lives can we join forces with our neighbor to rally behind a cause? Even if the goal is nothing more than, “I really, truly, want Team A to destroy, drown and pound Team B in the dirt until they can’t feel their feelings any more.”
I recognize there’s a dark, cynical side to sports, too. Johnny Manziel makes Texas A&M millions of dollars and he can’t earn a dime off his own name while competing for the Aggies. Dwight Howard — a large, petulant child-like creature — vacillates between Houston, Dallas and Los Angeles like most of us decide between a Reese’s, Twix or Snickers. Except he’s deciding between a five year, $118 million contract or a four year deal worth $88 million.
Going to a ball game today, at least professionally, costs a hand to park, a wrist for the tickets, a forearm for food, an elbow for drinks and a shoulder for the replica jersey you’re repping. How else can they pay for Howard’s contract?
Aaron. Hernandez. His ordeal defines the ugly underbelly of sports.
But, yet, and still, I can’t help but believe in the power of fandom. I can be hundreds of miles from home but if I see a fellow alumnus sporting my colors they’re an instant friend. We share a bond.
Unless I see them throwing on a Yankees hat Tuesday and a Reds cap Wednesday.
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