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The Curse of the Sports Fan
There's Nothing Like the Passion of Americans & Sports
Sox fans were happy
while it lasted – until the 7th inning.
• For
The Red Sox, the Curse is Reversed
• Fenway
Park "Ballparks and Beer"
Imagine, if you will, a grown man shedding
tears, crying his eyes out, his wounded heart open to the world.
A caring, sensitive, gentleman sharing an emotional moment with his
girlfriend? No, an American Sports Fan whose team has just lost a big
game or a championship.
There is absolutely nothing – I mean nothing – that can envelop
the emotions of people like sports in America.
Fans lean on their teams to provide thrills in their lives, to be
able to forget the bossy boss for a moment or take the chill out of,
say, a harsh Northeastern winter. There is the home team and every one
of them has a hated opponent – a rival – that makes
a fan's blood curdle at the mere mention of the name. They wear their
team's colors and logos as standard wardrobe and pack sports bars when
they can't be at the game themselves. These sports bars take on a character
all their own, almost expanding and contracting with each fans' heavy
breath.
Oh sure, there are soccer nuts in Europe and they go especially bonkers
in Brazil. Latinos cheer madly for their countrymen in any endeavor
with such passion it inspires admiration.
But they do this for their teams or heros whether they win, lose or
just perform well. For Americans it's all about the win.
This is a country where second place does not count, where being the
runner-up is actually far worse than finishing dead last. They took
us this far, only to let us down at the end!
I bring this up because I just finished watching the Boston Red Sox
in the 2004 baseball playoffs. Did it not in Fenway or even in Beantown,
but at a couple of Bosox-dominated sports bars in Los Angeles. It felt
like being in Fenway Park, with all the jerseys, hats and New England
accents. Had I located a Chicago-only bar in town, I would have been
there for the Cubbies, as well.
Why the Red Sox and Cubs? Because these are two of the world's most
interesting teams with the most die-hard of fans. And I do mean Die
Hard. Being in their presence - with ever-present beer in hand, of course
– it's possible to actually feel their passion, to be like
a voodoo doll that can enjoy their triumphs and agonize over their misfortunes.
They cheer even on foul balls hit by their hitters and moan at every
non-strike pitched by their pitchers. They sit so silently on big plays
it's possible to hear their hearts pounding in unison and become so
loud on things as simple as a fly ball it rattles the eardrums. They
are never happy, can never relax and are always prepared for the worst
to happen because, well, the worst always happens.
Until the Red Sox broke through and did the improbable in 2004, neither
team had won a World Series since World War I. The Red Sox have had
a shortstop hold onto the ball too long while the winning run crossed
home plate, let a ball roll though the legs of a first basman, twice
allowed light-hitting Yankee infielders to scorch them with series-deciding
dingers and blown more leads than the Denver Police Dept. The Cubs have
made an art form of melting down in the clutch (often missing the playoffs
entirely) and, most recently, had an irresponsible fan knock a sure
out away from the left fielder and just as surely knock them right out
of the World Series.
And then there are "the curses."
For Boston, it's "The Curse of the Bambino," the price for
selling Babe Ruth to the Yankees back in 1920. For Chicago, it has to
do with a billy goat.
Now, there may be something to these curses but I believe it has more
to do with attitude than any hex that has some Red Sox fans scuba
diving in a pond looking for Babe Ruth's piano.
That's right, attitude. It's all negative. There's not a positive thought
in the house.
Games are not calculated by going forward through the innings, but
backward by how many outs are left until it's over. "We're 12 outs
away," they'll say. And, no matter the score, no matter the lead,
no matter the dominance of their ace pitcher on the mound, once the
game reaches the seventh inning, they fear it's all over. "They'll
give up a solo home run to lose it, I just know it," they say.
Sure enough, the team gives up a solo home run and loses. (Note: The
Sox fans seems to stunned by their '04 comeback against the Yankees
that their typical pessimism didn't have the chance to take hold. As
a result, they won it all).
It's a strange concept for me. Then again, my favorite team is one
that actually wins big games (recent seasons notwithsanding). The University
of Alabama is one of college football's most dominant programs
and historically, when it's crunch time, that's when it does the most
crunching. The school has won 12 national championships (and I have
no idea how many league titles beacause in our minds the Big Prize is
the only one that counts) and when the game is close we confidently
know we are going to win. No doubts, no questions, no curses. Negative
vibes lead to negative results. Positive vibes lead to positive
results.
So, is there really a curse? Well, all the positive vibes in the world
can't keep a manager from brain-freezing in the late innings –
failing to remove Bill Buckner, leaving Pedro Martinez or Kerry Wood
in too long – but giving out positive vibes instead of negative
ones can definitely help prevent a sure-handed shortstop from making
an eighth-inning error or having no-names like Bucky Dent and Aaron
Boone become part of baseball lore.
Try it sometime. It just might work. Cubbies, it's your turn now. And
while you're at it, pass me a beer.
The Bartender can be reached at bartender@pubclub.com
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