After being humiliated in prime time the last three Saturdays, it was good to have one of my teams show up in a meaningful game before a national audience. Last night’s thumping of the hated Cowpokes, made me feel a little better…for now. You see, I used to be a rabid, unhinged football (and basketball) fan, especially on Saturdays…
Hey! Stop laughing!
Ok, maybe on certain Saturdays I can still be a bit unhinged. Like this past Saturday for instance. Anyone know how to get blood stains out of window blinds?
Where was I?
Oh yeah, so as a result, I absolutely will not watch my team at a sports bar for fear of exposing that side of my personality to the world. Really, there are a very few people I will watch those games with. That tiny group of humans, knows what I’m like and don’t care. For the most part, they find it entertaining, kind of like watching a dog try to catch its tail.
However, when I have meltdowns like last Saturday, I rightly feel ashamed afterward. I remember one October Saturday some years back, when I actually had to leave the house and walk a couple miles at half-time to calm down. When I was in college, my girlfriend became so alarmed at my behavior, that she gave me a foam brick to throw at the TV. Supposedly, it was to help me vent in a non-destructive way. It didn’t help much.
Why do I get like that? And I’m not the only person in the world who does. Ever see a soccer riot? Ever been to Alabama? You should see it here in Chicago now that the White Sox have choked away any possibility of the playoffs.
I think the problem lies in a fundamental lack of perspective—duh—and a deep insecurity about our own personal worth as human beings. The lack of perspective is easy to understand. There are much more important things in life than sports. The insecurity is a little trickier. I was asked recently why I get so worked up when my team plays poorly. Even when they win ugly, I still get mad. I tried to explain that it makes me nuts when I see someone so talented and so blessed with many natural gifts underachieve. But it’s more than that.
When a person feels small and unable to cope with the “thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to,” they look for something beyond themselves that is successful and heroic to which they can attach themselves. Feeling insignificant, unseen, or unnoticed in real life, the person overly identifies with the group that seems to have it all together. Sports teams are perfect for this type of identification. With their uniforms, mascots, songs, and traditions, they perfectly represent a tribal mentality that gives each member of the tribe its worth.
Now if you leave out what sounds like psychoanalytic babble, it comes down to this: I am a failure, but my team is not. When they fail, I have failed. When they win, I win.
Therein is the lie.
The truth is that I have nothing at all to do with “my team.” My team is my team because I make it so. I’m an alum, or a resident of the city, region, or nationality. That’s all. What I am, is what I am, not what they are and vice versa. I can’t play football or basketball, or soccer. Maybe I did a long time ago, but that too, was not what I was or am now. My inability to find worth in myself is my biggest failure, not that I failed to get the promotion, or win the contest, or send my child to Harvard.
The tribe I must belong to, the one in which my inclusion gives me the greatest self-worth, is that of the children of God. Made in His image and likeness, I am destined to be a son and heir to the Creator and King of the Universe, to possess all that He possesses, and to live and reign with Him. I don’t need a big foam finger to tell the world I’m number one, I am engraved on the palm of His hand.
