Sport.
Specifically, following a professional team.
Some people will never get it. Some people don't like exerting themselves in that kind of way. Or at all. Some people are so passively non-competitive that they shrink from the idea of any activity with scoring (although they may be content to pound themselves shorter legs on kilometre-plural runs, something I confess is completely beyond me. There are those who find a nice urban family game of soccer in the park on a Sunday - Secret Life of Us style - fun and diverting, but still can't understand the rabid, violent passion of a true sport fan.
My New Orleans Hornets (basketball) are 29 and 12 with the third best record in the league right now. MY Hornets. I've never been to New Orleans. I've never been to the US. I play basketball, but not terribly well. I just think its a cracking game to watch, and I chose to follow the Hornets because I THINK I'd dig New Orleans, and they have some great players, and I fancy myself as an armchair saviour - supporting the team trying to make it work in a hurricane ravaged city from the other side of the world.
The trouble is, even knowing how arbitrary the foundations of my support are, I am now a full-blow, obnoxiously passionate supporter. I've got the jersey. I listen to the games online. I check the scores of every other team to see how they compare. I read every related blog on the net. I exalt and I seethe. I blame refs I can't see.
And I wonder through it all "Is this healthy?" "Am I channelling some other buried and destructive frustration or passion through the artifice of professional sport?" "Am I a little bit mental?"
I know I'd get a lot more done if I stepped back from my flag-waving, but I'm unsettled by something deeper. I think I'm missing something. Seriously. Help me. I need an explanation. I need to know. Please...
Specifically, following a professional team.
Some people will never get it. Some people don't like exerting themselves in that kind of way. Or at all. Some people are so passively non-competitive that they shrink from the idea of any activity with scoring (although they may be content to pound themselves shorter legs on kilometre-plural runs, something I confess is completely beyond me. There are those who find a nice urban family game of soccer in the park on a Sunday - Secret Life of Us style - fun and diverting, but still can't understand the rabid, violent passion of a true sport fan.
My New Orleans Hornets (basketball) are 29 and 12 with the third best record in the league right now. MY Hornets. I've never been to New Orleans. I've never been to the US. I play basketball, but not terribly well. I just think its a cracking game to watch, and I chose to follow the Hornets because I THINK I'd dig New Orleans, and they have some great players, and I fancy myself as an armchair saviour - supporting the team trying to make it work in a hurricane ravaged city from the other side of the world.
The trouble is, even knowing how arbitrary the foundations of my support are, I am now a full-blow, obnoxiously passionate supporter. I've got the jersey. I listen to the games online. I check the scores of every other team to see how they compare. I read every related blog on the net. I exalt and I seethe. I blame refs I can't see.
And I wonder through it all "Is this healthy?" "Am I channelling some other buried and destructive frustration or passion through the artifice of professional sport?" "Am I a little bit mental?"
I know I'd get a lot more done if I stepped back from my flag-waving, but I'm unsettled by something deeper. I think I'm missing something. Seriously. Help me. I need an explanation. I need to know. Please...
1 comment:
You're a little bit mental.
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