In
the rare instances when the professional sports teams that I root for advance
deep into the post season – and then lose – I find myself questioning why I’m a
sports fan the way some challenge their faith in religion when terrible things
happen to innocent people. Okay, I
shouldn’t sound so dramatic, but you get the point.
I
really do wish I could be cured of this addiction to watching sports. My affliction costs me thousands of hours –
no, tens of thousands of hours in my lifetime.
And what do I have to show for it?
Heartbreak, frustration, anger, envy, and grief.
Overall,
the teams I’ve rooted for, collectively, do not have winning records. This means there’s a better than 50% chance
I’ll watch a losing effort every time I turn on the TV to tune into the Knicks,
Jets, or Mets. But this year was
different. This time I had to build up
my hopes for a huge letdown, as the Mets lost the World Series.
Now,
one can look at it a few ways. You can
say that you watch the games for the love of the sport and that you know going
into it there’s only a small chance your team will win a championship. Even the most successful baseball franchise –
the Yankees – don’t win it 75% of the time – and some teams, like the Cubs, haven’t
won it in 107 years.
But
at some point you really set the bar high and expect to win it all. And magically, your team cooperates and it
goes on a tear and finds itself, through skill, luck, timing, passion,
training, and strategy to be in a position to win it all. Now, all of the years of near-misses or
downright futility start to come together and you look back and realize how
long this has been in the making. For
the Mets, it was 15 years ago that they even contended in a World Series. They’ve played over 4800 games since 1986, the last time they won it all, and none of them
meant anything.
Yet,
there I was, alongside millions of others, rooting for the home team to play
better than all other teams for one full year.
But
even if the Mets managed to win every so often, what’s the point of it
all? I’m not paying or managing or
directly contributing to their success, so why do I feel as if my fate is
aligned with the outcome of their games?
I’m not even betting on the games.
I’m not employed by them. I get
nothing if they win – except more expensive tickets next year and the urge to
spring for overpriced memorabilia that honors their rare victory. Why do I yell, clap, and cheer for them when
they really do nothing for me, those spoiled millionaires playing a kid’s game
– and not always very well.
But
then time goes by and the healing will begin in the cold, dark recess of the
winter. My mind will be quieted by the
lack of hearing about, reading about, or watching the Mets. A hunger for the warmth of spring will build
up and it’ll be led by the spring training of the Mets in the middle of
February in Florida.
It’ll
be a little over 100 days that will have passed after the Mets fell a few games
short of winning it all come spring training.
It’ll be the dawning of a new season, one with promise and hope greater
than most of their spring trainings. Optimism, confidence and an air of
childlike fun will fill the hearts of not only the players, but the fans.
The
cycle will begin anew. We’ll put our
faith back into the team that traditionally disappoints. We’ll go back to rooting for something beyond
our control. We’ll eagerly lose
ourselves and forget our lives and commit to watching hundreds of hours of
games and analysis this coming season.
We’ll talk them up to fans and those who root for opposing teams. Again, we’ll look for bragging rights as if
the Mets were our own kids or some kind of extension of ourselves.
But
why, why do we do it? Why do I do it?
I’d
rather play than watch.
I’d
rather coach than watch.
I’d
rather do something that produces a payoff to me rather than root on others to
experience good fortunes.
I
watch because I love the game and marvel at seeing how great even the crappiest
big league player is. I watch the Mets
because I grew up with them the way I grew up with the Empire State Building
and Brooklyn Bridge being extensions of me.
It’s a part of my culture, my family, my vantage point of life. It’s my religion and I learn so much about
life and myself when I see the games unfold.
The Mets are my conduit to a competitive side, to the athlete in me that
is no more. I love the strategy and the battles within each game. I love getting to know the players as if
following around actors in a movie.
Baseball is a beautiful sport in a world filled with many wrongs, bad
people, sad events, tragic moments, and inconceivable pains. Baseball – and the Mets – as disappointing as
they can be, are like a paradise compared to real life.
Don’t
get me wrong, the world offers beauty, wonder, and some amazing people. But in between what’s great is death, loss,
despair, and suffering. To focus on
the Mets is a thing of beauty, even if they leave you saying “Wait til next
year.”
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