Showing posts with label Sport Fans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sport Fans. Show all posts

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Onward, Ever Upward

Football, hockey, soccer, basketball….pigskin, puck, and bouncy-balls. Team A versus team B…. all played against team C……the clock. Winning often comes down to managing the little hand. The final seconds could take minutes that seem like hours with a barrage of commercials.

Baseball, alone, is a counter-clockwise board game defying time. An inning might be a decade; a game simulating a lifetime. (Games are longer now than ever before as stadium seating inches onto the playing field to sell more premium tickets. As a consequence what was formerly catchable is now just a foul ball).  A few of us even go into extra innings. Each season is long enough to streak, slump and streak again, just like life.

Back in the day when I knew everything life seemed measurable and linear, at least on the sports pages. Stats ruled. Records were set. Some seemed insurmountable and still are. Others were illusive but attainable. Nobody has hit .400 since Ted Williams in 1941. No one had run a four-minute mile until 1954. A year before that Edmund Hilary of New Zealand, along with Tenzing Norgay, climbed Mt. Everest…because it was there. Even if the British Empire was no longer.

Milers came within a second or two of that magic number but couldn’t quite break the barrier. An Oxford medical student named Roger Bannister rose to the challenge by clocking in under four minutes by 0.3 of a second. Three months later he bettered that mark by a full 2 seconds plus. Since then over 1300 others routinely run under four minutes and over 3,000 have climbed Everest.  Progress confirmed.

Too bad social progress hasn’t followed the same narrative. Older, and less knowing, I have come, more and more, to expect less and less. Our high court is dismantling voting rights achieved 50 years ago. Congress has become irrelevant. Xenophobia is sweeping Europe and threatens the great promise of the European Union. The Russian Bear is growling after its brief hibernation. Science is under attack from the Bible thumpers. At this rate we will soon wonder if the mile can ever be run under five minutes.... running downhill on the Himalayas.

Why the gap between physical achievement and our (d)evolution as custodians of the planet? The former seems progressive and the latter either cyclic or glacially slow. Whether we are witnessing the final gasp of the 19th century warrior/privilege mentality here in the 21st or an irreversible great leap backward, is hard to discern. There are days when it seems we are climbing, not Everest, but into our own abyss.

Which is why I take refuge in the alternative universe of the sports section. More drama. Less murky. The players have evolved faster, taller, stronger and certainly richer. At the same time they seem more fragile, arrogant and not a bit smarter. When an alien civilization discovers our planet a few light years from now they may reconstruct our society from out of the debris on the baseball diamond. In among the bones will be sticks of wood, a few pillows (bases) and mitts which will puzzle our visitors. They may conclude we had slept on grass and clubbed each other to death with our oversize hands. It may help to explain how we bulldozed our forests even as oceans rose and all that’s left of Everest is a pitching mound.

On a more positive note it seems that athletic performances are a function of technology with leaps evident due to advances in equipment and training. They are less evident in team sports because the defensive improvements blur offensive ones. In terms of societal gains there will always be push-back as the power elite increases exponentially. However world wars have been averted through the threat of mutually assured destruction. Literacy and health are vastly improved in the developing world. We are a work-in-progress. I shall cling on to that word, Progress.   

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Sports Fans

Mid-October, leaves oranging and my three favorite sports all happening in stadiums with frenzied fans, an entity that barely existed 100 years ago. Fandom is the creation of mass media and the more massive is media the more ardent and universal are fans.

From gentle ladies and men in proper attire at Wimbledon or Forest Hills to hooligans in Liverpool or Philadelphia or Chicago spectators give themselves over to their home team and vent their spleen at those other guys.

HOLD THAT LINE! CHARGE! DEFENSE! BEAT L.A!, OLE! , KO-BE!.

There is something ancient and tribal about this sort of animus against "otherness." Being sent into exile was like banishment to a nether world.

Consider the visiting team, braced to receive the verbal abuse from the crowd. Their players feed on that derision, like reverse acclaim and hate them back until the throng is silenced. The matador stares into the eyes of death and wins immortality, however briefly.

With the Dodgers out of the post season I needed some team to embrace and some team to hate. When I decided to give myself over to the San Francisco Giants my friend reminded me of Dodger history against the "hated ones" dating back to our New York City rivalry. How could I turn my back on this heritage as if I had betrayed a sacred trust and stepped into the enemy tent.

How indeed? Very simply by reverting back to the irrationality which is at the core of choosing sides. Most fans root for the home team if only because they get the most ink from local sportswriters. In this case my cheers go to the California squad. Do I need a reason beyond that? How's this one?........San Francisco is playing Atlanta; Blue state over Red state. Or........I like Buster Posey, the Giant catcher. I like his name. I like his face. Any reason will do.

But why (I hear you ask) must I wish one team to whip the other? Because I'm hard-wired that way. It's in my medulla and my glands. Indefensible, I know, but it ads to my enjoyment as a viewer. I cannot watch a game without cheering and jeering.

Of course every player on the field or court has a story.....this one’s brother died last week, that one overcame polio or donated money to Haitian relief ....... so I attach myself to them. I have a Zionist friend who asks himself which team's victory would be more beneficial to Israel. I recently made a decision to never root for the St.Louis Cardinals because their manager and star player recently attended the Glenn Beck rally.

I must stop now. The game is coming on and I need to find some reason to enter the skin of one of those two teams, quicken my pulse, sweat my palms, grow fangs and go berserk. Don’t worry folks, it’s only an alternative universe. I’ll return to Earth in a few hours and nothing will have changed for you mere mortals.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Fandom

It would be a stretch to imagine a group of fans rooting for a particular lion in the Coliseum 2000 years ago or even a coterie of serfs cheering on their favorite knight in a jousting match 1000 years later.

Sport fans, as we know them, are a recent phenomena. It took a village to create a spectator class and mass media to whip up a subset of avid followers into a frenzy over the fortunes of a team. How infantile. These people are suffering from arrested development. They need to get a life. I know, I'm one of them.

How could the outcome of a ballgame affect my life? Only if I subsume my identity in theirs. I would never quite admit to that. But I must confess when the Dodgers win I feel just an imperceptible inch better about the world and when they lose I push them into the background. How else to cope with a universe gone awry?

For some of us the child is still alive with a memory of bubblegum cards under crossed rubber bands bulging in our back pocket. That's when it all started. I was probably so dumb I saved the gum and chewed on the cards.

Someone should do longitudinal research to measure the effect on one's life being a Yankee fan as opposed to a Cub fan. The last time Chicago won the World Series Mark Twain was still alive. Do Yankee fans live their lives with a swagger?

A form of mysticism known only to sport fans is the effect our acts have on the game. If I put my hand on the chair the next batter will get a base hit. After all, we have to feel that our presence is not for naught. What's a fan for?

Real fans are descendants of pagans, idolaters who converse with the gods and know the power of a sacrificial act. If it takes closing their eyes to win they're ready to miss the play. They are zealots who move their bodies into others to do battle, once removed, against the forces of darkness. Not to be confused with mere spectators, they suit up for the game in a different skin, grow fangs and fur and have found the clearing in the forest where they can lay down and die. This is high drama, living theater. In the end mere players enact the ritual but it is these possessed fans who control the fate.