Just Glad I Still Care

I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch since the game ended.  Almost a half hour passed as I sat there alone, staring at the blank TV, thinking, stewing, physically hurting.

The Lakers had a chance to close out their series with the Denver Nuggets, but came out at home with no energy or killer instinct.  The Nuggets led the whole way, ballooning the lead up to 15 with six minutes to play.  I came very close to powering off the TV during that timeout, and later wish I had.     

But I didn’t, and inevitably the Lakers went on a furious run, led as always by the indomitable will of Kobe Bryant.  They clawed all the way back to within 2 on a barrage of three pointers.  The sudden change of emotions was almost too much to handle.  I went from deep despair to bewildered euphoria in less than a quarter of an hour.  It wasn’t healthy.  And when the Lakers ultimately came up just short, I fell to an even lower level of despondency.

This was a horrible feeling; this was not something I wanted to feel anymore.  This wasn’t very fun.  Sports are supposed to be fun.  Being a sports fan is supposed to be fun.  This was not fun.

Maybe I take it too seriously, I thought.  Maybe I should try to develop other interests.  It can’t be healthy having my life depend on the whether or not a stranger puts a ball through a hoop 24-feet away.  And this wasn’t even that remarkable of a game.  It had ups and downs to be sure, but when the Lakers likely close out the series in game six, it’ll quickly be forgotten to the annals of history.

Why, then, was I so down?  As the night went on, I began to realize that I hadn’t felt this low from a sports game in some time.  Maybe last year, as the Lakers got swept by the Mavericks.  But before that? 

…

For someone as fanatical about sports as I am, I’ve always had a surprisingly short number of teams I deeply care about.  I’m most often a neutral observer.  I love watching games, I get excited about big matchups, and I find myself causally rooting for certain teams.  But there are only two teams I’ve truly loved and supported for as long as I can remember- the Lakers and the United States Men’s National Soccer team.  I’ve fallen in and out of love with several other teams, but only those two have always been there.

The Los Angeles Galaxy used to be on that list.  I grew up going to games at the Rose Bowl, eventually falling into the live-and-die-with-results stage of obsession. 

But a post-college job with arch-rival Chivas USA was all it took to end it.

Even when I started working for Chivas USA I couldn’t imagine my feelings for the Galaxy fading away.  But after a couple months getting to know people whose livelihoods depended on Chivas USA’s performance, my whole perspective on sports fanaticism began to change. 

The first game against the Galaxy was only days after I joined Chivas USA, and I was confused as hell.  The teams met again a few months later, but this time there was no doubt in my mind who I was rooting for.  I didn’t feel like a Chivas USA ‘fan’ exactly, but I was  part of the team.

I saw the players every day, I came to care for them as people and athletes.  Of course I wanted them to do well.  I formed relationships with the coaches and front office staff, and I wanted them to get the result they needed to keep their jobs.  I began to understand the fans, to see how passionate they were about the team, to see how much wins and losses meant to them.  I wanted the team to win for them, I wanted them to be able to celebrate a long-awaited victory over their hated rivals.

Of course, the ‘hated rival’ was the team I grew up loving.  It eventually became difficult to wish success for Chivas USA without disliking the Galaxy.

I felt guilty, of course, to be changing sides so quickly, but this was natural.  This was a fairly organic process.  And it was so different than how I had became a fan of the Galaxy in the first place.  I had real reasons.  It wasn’t just because someone had bought me a jersey, or I attended a game when I was a kid.  I was starting to have uncomfortably deep thoughts about what it meant to be a sports fan at all.

…

The fact that I was becoming a sort of media member wasn’t helping either.  True, I was technically employed by the team, but I spent games in the press box (no cheering!) and often interviewed visiting players immediately after the final whistle.  My biases softened.  Just being in that environment made me start to feel more like a journalist and less like a fan.

I no longer work for Chivas USA, but I doubt if I’ll ever look at MLS the same way again.  I can’t really call myself a ‘fan’ of any team in the league.  I enjoy watching games, and I love the league, but it’s not the same.  There aren’t emotions on the line anymore.  I’ll casually root for Chivas USA more than any other team, but that’s only beause it’s the club with the most players and staff I know personally, not because of a connection to the club’s tradition, history or colors.  I've essentially become a neutral observer for MLS too.  

It’s always been that way for me in college football and the NFL.  Living in Los Angeles and not attending a D-1 college, I’ve never had an authentic connection with a football team.  European soccer is the same- I refuse to arbitrarily support a team I don’t have a tangible connection too.  I know many Americans truly love Manchester United, Liverpool or Barcelona (and a few even have decent reasons).  That's great, but it’s not for me.  It just feels phony.

Even the way I looked at my beloved US Soccer team was altered by time at Chivas USA, getting to know so many players and seeing the sport ‘behind the scenes’.  Slowly, I was losing all of my sports fanaticism.  I was becoming a rational observer, not an emotional fan. 

The one team I had left was the Lakers, but even that was changing and perhaps waning a bit.  It’s impossible to overstate how much working for a sports team changed my views.  It became much more difficult to hate certain teams (even the Celtics) knowing that athletes are real people with dreams and goals (and families!), and understanding how many office staff members truly have their livelihoods tied to a team’s success.  

Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t mean to dramatically imply that my life was losing its meaning.  Sports were still hugely important to me, and were still fun.  I still got butterflies before big games, I still got excited for game sevens and opening days.  I still scheduled evenings and weekends around watching games.  My life still revolved around sports, and I doubt  that will ever change.  It just felt a bit different.  Seeing other people blindly supporting their teams made me jealous for some reason.  Where had that feeling gone for me?  Did I know too much?  Had I really changed?

Why couldn’t I at least feel it for the Lakers?  They should have been the only team I had left, but I didn’t feel games affecting me quite the same way anymore.  I still wholeheartedly supported them, I still tried to watch every game, I still told anyone who would listen that the Lakers were going to win the Championship and that Kobe was the best player in basketball. 

But I was worried that my fanaticism was waning.  I wasn’t sure if I was still truly a diehard fan, or just acting like one out of habit.  I wasn’t sure if I still truly cared.  The childish joy I used to have watching my Lakers - running around the house, jumping up and down, screaming after Kobe dunks- was a much less frequent feeling.  As were those painful lows.  I got over losses quicker.  I didn’t dwell as much; I was seeing the bigger picture.  I was slowly becoming less of a crazy fan.  I was maturing.  I was rational.  But I don’t think I was happier.  Watching sports had become a little less fun. 

…

Almost an hour had passed after the Lakers loss on Tuesday night, and I was still sitting there thinking.  I had certainly cared tonight.  I didn’t go into the game with a plan to start ‘caring’, I didn’t expect it to affect me this much, it just happened. 

For some reason, I felt it all again.  It wasn’t gradual- it was a rush.  Maybe a game with this many emotional swings was exactly what I needed.  It was all of the highs and all of the lows in a condensed period of time.  It was overwhelming.   

Late in the game, during the Lakers' comeback, I found myself on my feet.  I hurled the remote across the room after a Javale McGee put-back.  I jumped and yelled after Kobe hit a late three-pointer.  I collapsed to the floor as Ramon Sessions’ final attempt to tie the game rimmed out and the clock hit double zeros.  I was devastated.  I was frustrated… I cared. 

…

As I lay there much later, still slumped on the couch, the pain started to fade away.  But it wasn’t fading because I was getting over the loss. It was fading because I realized my questions were answered and my biggest fear was dispelled.  I was hurting.  Maybe my views on sports had evolved a bit and maybe I was going to be a different sort of fan in the future, but for now, I was just relieved to know that I could still feel that pain.  

I’m just glad I still care.