After the New Orleans Saints won the Super Bowl in 2009, sports pundits fell all over themselves to claim that this victory helped the New Orleans community heal from Hurricane Katrina, which occurred in August of 2005. The devastation from Katrina was such that even 2.5 years later many were dispossessed, neighborhoods were a shell of their pre-Katrina vibrancy and rebuilding had just started. Yet, all the city needed was a football win and it was back, baby.
Not surprisingly, politicos lined up to echo this scenario. They were happy to have residents, and the rest of the country, focus on the positive vibes of the Saints’ triumph rather than the slow response to the tragedy. Voices that pointed this out were drowned by the feel-good story of the Saints. People were once again dancing on Bourbon Street, and what else really mattered.
This was a quintessential example of sports claiming more than it can offer. The sports world is always trying to justify its existence beyond the playing fields by citing the business it generates, the good will it engenders and the role it plays as an integral part of a community. Something like the Saints win becomes a cure for all evil, and a tonic for civic pride.
It is no great revelation to say that pro sports is the epitome of hypocrisy. Listening to league execs, you would think that the fans are the most important item on their agenda. And yet, every decision is designed to enhance revenue, even if it is at the expense (literally) of the fans. The cost of tickets goes up. Legalized scalping (also known as Stub Hub) increases the expense even more. You can stay home and watch the game on TV, but television deals are cut to maximize commercials, making viewing interminable.
Players are no better. They love the fans when the cheers are pouring down. Who wouldn’t? But when bad play causes the fans turn on them, it’s another story. Time and again players react to fan displeasure through a universal one-finger symbol of disgust, if not worse. To many, the fans are there to idolize them, no matter what. All I can say is that those players better avoid Philly.
The odd thing is that despite all of that there is some truth to the hyperbole. There is an undeniable jolt of energy that passes through a community going through sports success. We are seeing it now here in Philly. It started with the Phillies improbable trip to the World Series and continued straight into Eagles run to the Super Bowl. It is invigorating to walk through the streets and see waves of Phillies red, or Eagles green.
The fan base exists in a world separate and apart from the execs and the players. They have seen ownership change, bonehead coaching, stars come and go, bad trades and bust draft picks. And still fans power on. Fans may say they have had enough, but they are one upset win or mega-signing from being back aboard the train they never really left.
Playoff runs are the payoff for that loyalty. It’s a validation for all of those wasted Sunday’s watching anther dispiriting loss to a hated rival. It makes worthwhile all those September nights watching your team blow a five-run lead and slide into oblivion. It rekindles the unbridled joy you felt as a kid watching your favorite player take the ball the length of the floor and dunk over some bum you can’t stand because of the uniform they wear. (You know who you are Larry Bird).
And yes, that joy is contagious. It pulls in people who could generally care less about sports. A green jersey, or a red hat (not MAGA) gets you a smile. Casual conversations with a stranger in line about the upcoming big game are the norm. The generally meaningless chatter with Lyft drivers become spirited debate about the keys to victory.
This era of good feelings doesn’t last long. Sports is too cyclical. Two years after winning a Super Bowl a team can struggle to go 8-9, and back into the playoffs because of others ineptitude, only to be blown out by a second-rate opponent (right Tom Brady?). But while it is going on it is really a breath of fresh air.
I must admit that I am not sure I would have it any other way. As fantastic as it is to win, I would not want to be robbed of the equally enjoyable ability to second-guess a Manager or boo an over-hyped athlete. And while the enthusiasm is fun, there is part of you that disdains all those jumping on the bandwagon. It’s all part of the long haul for the sports fan.
But for now, all that is put aside. The big game nears, and I am nervous. I want the reassurance of all those fair-weather fans. I want to bask in the green glow of the city’s buildings. I want to join into spontaneous outbursts of the Eagles fight song. I want to enjoy this while it lasts. So, I will bury the cynicism, ignore the naysayers, embrace the throngs and unite with my fellow Philadelphians in a loud “E-A-G-L-E-S, EAGLES!!!!”
Sorry to have to witness my good buddy going through his home teams Super Bowl pregame jitters. So, I watched and supported New Orleans music and art as it expanded throughout the US for purchase as their homeland was devastated and dreams of rebuilding were dreamt. Trombone Shorty. The Nevels, etc etc. the sports scene was just another facet in this city’s crown. So, it’s not cynical at all. It’s just another cultural reference to one’s jewels. Go Eagles.
Well said
Growing up I was fanatical (sic) about the Los Angeles Rams. My Pop Warner team wore the same cool colors with ram horns on our shoulders, and the LA team had a great name for their defensive line: The Fearsome Foursome. We were too skinny for that nickname, but even skinny kids dream. The Rams also got their fair share of TV time (on ABC) and won often, which helped. Their defensive end, Deacon Jones, I assumed, had powers from above (as a deacon might), and Roman Gabriel, their QB, was immortal, or at least worthy of an empire.
Then my mom asked me – if the Rams swapped all of their players with the Cowboys (just to pick a non-random rival), who would you support? That, horrible question exposes the fallacy of our fandom. We support the brand. Or at least we think we do until the Colts move from Baltimore to Indianapolis or, to mess with us further, the Houston Oilers move to Tennessee and become the Titans.
All of which brings me to a very recent and challenging moral dilemma: yesterday, my wife and I went to support UVA v. Dook, in hoops. For all things UVA, we support the brand. And for all things Dook, we oppose the brand, though we’re allowed to switch if UVA is out of the NCAA tournament and Dook is our lone ACC representative. For those who live on a planet that is not inhabited by ACC basketball, Dook has made a living by getting favorable treatment from referees… and if I had the ability to attach gifs or videos, Grayson Allen would feature here. And here. And here. But his brethren would get plenty of gif- time too. But I digress.
Yesterday’s UVA victory over Dook was marred by an officiating error. We screamed at them despite our lying eyes and the refs reversed their call!!!. It was an unbelievably successful hometown scream, which will only encourage us for later in the season. And that hometown job gave UVA an opportunity for a victory over the Devils that we greedily took.
So what’s my moral dilemma? I’m basically wondering why I could care less about Dookie complaints. What’s going on in me? More universally, in today’s Super Bowl, can I root for and against Patrick Mahomes? Or Andy Reid? Can I wear my Eagles jersey while knowing that if they traded everyone and moved cities, I’d still hate regular-season Dook? Fandom. I’m hooked. There are no answers. Go E. A. G. L. E. S.