Professional Sports

I'm going to try very hard to keep my elitism in my pants as I write this week's article. I would like to state for the record that I was not raised in an idyllic moon colony where entertainment has evolved beyond your simple earth contests. What follows is merely an opinion. I hope I don't offend too many people with this review, but if I do I guess I don't really care. You see, I like to drink beer, scream obscenities in public and stumble through the streets destroying property as much as the next guy. I simply do not feel the need to associate this behavior exclusively with the arbitrary success or failure of the nearest gang of inarticulate, color-coordinated, bum-slapping douchebags.

I live in a city where people go completely loopy over this stuff. As I've stated elsewhere, I am not well-traveled. While I don't know for sure, it can't be like this everywhere. Even when our teams are down on their luck, they can rely upon a powerful groundswell of nostalgia to keep the seat to ass ratio favorable. I have to assume that if your local team is some awful cannon fodder outfit that never wins and never has, then you have fewer face-paintingly insane devotees to the sport in general.

Not here, though. The local teams' games are always the chief social and cultural events citywide. We were having an economic meltdown before it was fashionable, our infrastructure is crumbling, every year the public transportation system gets worse and costs more, and our elected officials always exist somewhere on a slider between corrupt and inept. We should be out in the streets tearing shit up, but we only ever do it when a local team wins the whatever bowl.

Anti-establishment pontificating aside, the reason I'm writing this and the reason for the me versus them mentality you've likely detected is the way people treat the pastime compared to other hobbies. People assume I'm a sports fan. If there's a game taking place, I have to justify doing anything other than watching it. Clearly I'm not watching it for a reason and the reason is that I don't give two shits, but if I say this, people look at me like I just teabagged the pope.

Since I don't really care what others think about me, this wouldn't stick in my craw if society as a whole didn't see fit to judge everyone and everything else so harshly.

In our society, there exists a casual contempt for countless subcultures, clubs, and hobbies. While nowhere near as vile as the economic stratification, racism, and homophobia we struggle against, I believe they are all different heads on the hydra we never can seem to slay. It's an idea that has been with us longer than the written word. It is the conviction that, for one's own way of life to be valid, everyone else must be forced to live that way as well. Everyone -- from the early surplus farmers to the crusaders to football hooligans -- is guilty of this.

I am an adult, and have surrounded myself with people who are supportive and similarly inclined as far as interests go. But what about the kid living in Pigskin, Alabama? This hypothetical child could end up a violin virtuoso or perhaps has ideas for really bizarre performance art or maybe even harbors a harmless but unusual sexual fantasy that, if repressed, will cause a buildup of anxiety destined to culminate in some sort of clock tower incident. I'm not saying this kid can't be a quarterback or a cheerleader, but that's the direction society will insist upon.

I do not believe we need to create a world without spectator sports, but I am arguing for a world in which we support a more diverse range of cultural and artistic pursuits. I envision a world in which youngsters won't have to choose between art and acceptance, fantasy and friendship, science fiction and a social life.

That was heavy-handed. Where was I? Oh yeah, the review.

The professional sports model seems to consist of vast amounts of banality punctuated only occasionally by the extraordinary. Evidently, lots of people will watch for years waiting for one of those rare moments of wonder. To be fair, however, some people play World of Warcraft, which is designed to render the bare minimum of entertainment for their gaming dollar.

I only really enjoy those sports moments that undermine the normal structure of the game in question. I watched a runner yell, "I got it!" to disrupt the catching of an easy infield fly. That was awesome. I also enjoy hockey fights although they sometimes seem staged.

I just can't get into the passivity of the whole thing. I also seldom watch television and sometimes have trouble sitting still for a feature-length film. I mean no disrespect. If you're into it, that's cool by me.

But here's the problem; lots of fans feel the same way I do. An insane amount of thought and effort goes into the headgear, the face paint, the pseudo-spiritual rituals, and the awful -- and I mean really awful, cover your ears awful, dig a hole in the ground and bury your head awful -- songs on local radio stations. There's so much out there it's mind-boggling. I'll bet you could make enough selling one team's paraphernalia you could kick back for the off-season just like the overpaid meatheads whose names appear on your merchandise.

All this time and money is spent to try and influence something beyond your control. It is a subconscious rejection of the passive nature of the pastime. It's this disconnect between the effort that goes in and the actual entertainment value that turns me away from sports.

A few years ago, our team won the uber bowl for the first time since the age of yore. Obviously, I grabbed a camera and made my way to the college neighborhood to watch the riots. It was mildly amusing. They flipped some cars, burned a sandwich shop's awning, and tried for twenty minutes to smash open an uprooted parking meter. By the time I left -- around the time the riot moved in the direction of my tiny compact car -- I just felt sad. These kids didn't riot because their team had won, not really. Deep down inside they wanted to riot and the team's victory provided an excuse to do so.

It struck me as a monumental waste of potential. A release valve, a spillway, a clock tower that could have been a concert hall.