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Shufflin' on Through to Ecstasy -- What LA's Missing
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I’ve loved sports since I was 11 years old. No one else in my family was interested in sports, but I independently developed an obsessive love for the Chicago Bulls, who promptly won six championships in the next eight seasons, enough to cement a life-long affair.
I grew to love all Chicago teams and then, when I started college at Michigan, found a school just as much in love with its football, hockey and basketball teams as I was in love with mine – what a marriage! I eagerly adopted their teams as my own.
As an otherwise reasonable – at least in my own judgment – human being, I have often tried to examine my love of sports and find a reason for its hold on me, or at least a rationalization for my emotional involvement.
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My dad, who has no interest at all in sports, has always mocked my addiction, mimicking my excitement at the victory of the “guys in the red shirts over the guys in the blue shirts.” But, Dad, I’d insist, I care about the guys in the red shirts. I know them. Until, of course, one of the guys in the red shirt changes teams and puts on a blue shirt. Then screw him.
Anyway, I must acknowledge that my dad makes a good point: there is often little or no rationale for the love of a particular team. I accept that this is true, but it may be one of the most endearing things about sports. Much like love for a child, a family member or even a significant other, we love without question, wholly accepting the object of our affection for all they are (and especially in the case of sports, who they were and who they become). We hate their enemies with the same blind rage (I still say Patrick Ewing is a cow and Anthony Mason is a thug... don’t get me started on The Ohio State You-know-what).
This kind of mindless devotion would be dangerous were it applied to patriotism, but it is mostly benign when enacted in the world of sports.
In fact, as a self-aware and relatively intelligent person, I have begun to revel in my sports obsession with an increased joy and sense of freedom. What sports give me, as we approach the day of my dear Bears' appearance in the Super Bowl, is a reason to be really, really happy.
Unlike a love of music or food, which may require some inherent tastes and appeal to those tastes, sports desires can be entirely manufactured. We can decide to like a team, learn about the players, the organization and the play book, watch them in games and hope they win, and before we know it, we're hooked. When they lose we cry and when they win we are euphoric.
In sports the rewards may be better than any other love. Over time I have developed a real, deep concern for the outcome of games in which my Bears are playing and, as a result, when they won the NFC Championship I felt actual joy -- for hours afterward.
Living in LA I don't see this kind of love, or the ensuing happiness. In Chicago right now it would be impossible to miss the fact that the Bears are in the Super Bowl. When the Red Wings were winning in Detroit there was a frenzied excitement through the whole state. During the NBA playoffs I'm not even sure, from any emotion evident in the city, if the Lakers have made it and definitely can't tell when they get eliminated.
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It might just be too easy. The Lakers have won a lot, they are easy to like and easy to ignore when they lose. The Dodgers seem to have the most devoted fan base, but the attitude of the devotees strikes me as very Southern California, as in "I'd like to sleep with you tonight, but I won't call again for a few days, so you won't think I'm too interested."
This is a shame for LA fans. The pay-off for faithfully following a team through losing seasons and suffering heartbreak with each loss comes when all that pain is channeled into the celebration of a championship. Like the one I'm hoping to enjoy next weekend.
Of course, if the Bears were to lose XLI, I would be a little let down for a while, but as I've aged I have managed to moderate my responses to losses better and - without sounding too much like the Cubs fans I am - I've learned to look forward to the next season, when there will be more games against the guys in the other-colored jerseys, new enemies to dissect, and more chances to celebrate.
Go Bears.
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