Against my will, I’ve become the worst kind of pro sports fan. No, not the bandwagoner. Not the running commentator. Much worse. Somehow over the last several painful years of being a Dallas Cowboys’ fan, I’ve become that guy who even when we’re winning, I know we’re gonna lose. I know. It’s terrible. There’s nothing more tragic in professional fandom.
Think about it. In what other setting will you see a tough guy in full costume or in body paint? Take your neighbor. You know, the guy who has never offered so much as a smile during the entire time he has lived next door. I could toss out any number of examples of emotionally poor men (as well as women) who would never submit to the embarrassment of public dancing (or any other such tomfoolery), but who will on any given Sunday spike a can in their living room and do the beer-belly-buddha dance complete with twerking and butt slaps when their favorite team scores.
This is pro sports’ contribution to the world. What? You thought it was raising attention for charities? Sportsmanship? Teamwork? Pah! Pro sports’ true contribution to humanity is the celebration dance. And not for the sake of the players. No, the benefit is experienced when the fans do the dancing. All of us need that release, those moments of ecstasy when we allow ourselves to emote deeply. Even the lows can be beneficial if we let ourselves genuinely feel them. Think of these ups and downs as staged/safe opportunities for authenticity.
We spend so much of our lives being told to “get a grip” or to “calm down.” We live our lives afraid to celebrate one moment because we know the other shoe will drop the next. Never too up. Never too down. Even Stephen, that’s the way to go. During moments of great potential joy, I often find myself thinking, “don’t get too caught up” out of a fear that experiencing the joy will make the inevitable sorrow that much worse. Pish posh.
Professional fandom is supposed to be the one area in life to escape this morbid numbness. Watching one team compete against another within the gladiatorial arena with nothing more on the line than arbitrary allegiances and bragging rights is supposed to offer us a safe place to surrender to the emotional ups and downs. Rub yourself down in body paint. Chest bump. Scream. Cry into your drink.
Rationally, of course I know the odds are against winning it all. In the NFL, there are 32 teams. Thirty-one of those teams will end the season as losers. Only one team will win it all. The Cowboys haven’t won since 1996. Will they win this year? Probably not. So of course, they’re probably gonna lose in the end. But how pathetic is it for me to mope around all season (even when my team is playing well) just because “they’ll probably blow it in the end.” I gotta do better. We can all do better.
Next time you find yourself being a professional (or amateur) spectator, take the job seriously. Try a few celebration dances. Let yourself laugh. Let yourself cry. In the immortal words of Homer Simpson when challenged by his wife, Marge, to level out:
NEVER! Never, Marge! I can't live the buttoned-down life like you. I want it all! The terrifying lows, the dizzying highs, the creamy middles! Sure, I might offend a few of the *blue*-noses with my cocky stride and musky odors. Oh! I'll never be the darling of the so-called "City Fathers" who cluck their tongues, stroke their beards, and talk about "What's to be done with this Homer Simpson?"!
If you find yourself (like me) drifting through life in a state of steady numbness, try becoming a professional fan. Within the well-defined and socially acceptable bounds of fandom, let yourself start to experience the terrifying lows, the dizzying highs, and even some of those creamy middles. Perhaps, over time, we’ll find some mutual healing through it.
At the Desk This Week
I’ve only got a few scenes left in my editing process of the third season of The Green Ones. I’m almost done, I swear! Wrapping it up is taking a bit of time, because I want to make sure I don’t overplay the emotions in the final drama. This book has been a challenge for multiple reasons. One of them has been maintaining a first person POV throughout an intentionally very trippy experience. My main characters continuously find themselves lost in the awareness of others. Reality gets criss-crossed as the multiverse bends and contorts in new ways. Trying to figure out how to describe this experience to the reader without simply coming across as an acid trip has been a huge challenge. It has forced me (among other things) to be very specific about word choice. If I choose a word like “fall” or “spin” I have to be mindful of all the different ways the motion can be interpreted. Will it be read figuratively? or literally? Should I use “trip” or “turn” instead? This has been the most time consuming aspect of this most recent rewrite. I want the final result to be anchored by concrete descriptors despite the mind-trippy nature of the experience being described.
If You Wish to Start Reading The Green Ones…
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