I go into a state of depression when my team loses. I watch games more than once, praying that maybe the result will be different the second time. In case you were wondering, the Colts always lose to the the Saints, the United States loses to Ghana, and Parma wins. At the end of those games, the hard losses, when that feeling of total desperation sinks in, when you realize that things really didn’t turn out like you thought they would, I say to myself, “Why in the world did I let myself get so invested into this game?” I mean, really, there is only a 50 percent chance of being the winner; I should have saved myself the heartache and been neutral.
I never am.
I pick a team for every single sporting event. Even if I don’t care about the sport for a second. I pick a team when I watch paintballing and the Fourth of July Hot Dog Eating Contest and curling. Of course, I get grumpy when my “team” doesn’t win. I ask, “Why in the world did I let myself get so invested into this game?”
Mr. Roper shared an article with my class last year, and this quote from Stephen Flynn stuck with me, “My daughter was 6 when the World Trade Center towers went down, 8 when lights went off on the East Coast, 10 when a major U.S. city drowned—I saw things built, and she’s seen them fall apart.” I know it seems a little random right now, but it all ties into the sports thing because I watch two things on TV with my dad. The news and football.
We watch the news in the morning on his bed; we have been doing that since I was really little. Now, my first memory of that was on August 31, 1997; I was 5. It was the day Princess Diana died. I remember my parents explaining to me that a princess had died in a car accident. I didn’t believe them at first–princesses didn’t die. It was the first time I saw something that seemed so solid, fall apart. The next time was when I was 9; I watched the towers fall in the same spot my parents told me that princesses could die. I asked my dad if I had just watched history. I curled up with the dad late the night before Katrina hit. I listened to Anderson Cooper, hoping I could pick up some hope in his voice. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as bad as they thought.
Like Stephen Flynn’s daughter and the rest of my generation, I have watched things fall apart my whole life. In case you forgot, my parents told me a PRINCESS died when I was 5, I watched two, hundred story buildings collapse when I was 9, and I was 13 when I watched New Orleans drown. Logically, my entire generation should be terrified, hiding under some rock in Antarctica. Yet, we keep on living. Living and hoping we can make things right someday.
I watched the world fall apart in my parents’ bed, but I watched football with my father from my living room. It didn’t matter if it was professional or college. A good game or a bad one. Win or loss. I have dramatically different memories from those moments in the living room. I stood awestruck when Eli Manning threw out an unbelievable pass that upset the undefeated New England Patriots. I couldn’t believe my eyes when Ian Johnson ran into the end zone to win the Fiesta Bowl. I stood on the edge of my seat as Garrett Hartley kicked a field goal that sent the Saints to their first Superbowl. My dad stayed up late with me to watch recorded Colts games that I had to miss because of my cheerleading schedule. He explained things that I didn’t get, and we made bets on the outcome of certain games; he told me I wouldn’t get into Northwestern if they didn’t win the Outback Bowl. Sure enough, I didn’t get into Northwestern after their devastating loss. Still, football is my happy place.
It is a lot of people’s happy place. And not just football. People find peace in soccer, basketball, and even curling. It is an undisputed fact that people love sports. The question is why. Why do we get ourselves get so invested with something that only has a 50 percent success rate?
You are probably still trying to figure out the connection between these crazy world events and sporting events. Here it is: 50 percent is a lot better odds than we have for a lot of other things. I mean, a princess died. The Twin Towers fell. New Orleans was underwater for weeks. Those things had, like, a 2 percent chance of happening, but they did. We’ve lost all confidence in the odds; we just need something to believe in. And that is what football has given me. What basketball gives some. Curling. Paintballing. It is what sports have given the world. Hope.
The United States saw it last year when the Saints won the Superbowl. The hope of an entire devastated city rested on the shoulders of one team. One team with a 50 percent chance of winning. Its not great odds, but it was good enough for everyone to believe in. People who had never watched a football game in their life crowded around their televisions to cheer on the Saints. The Saints gave an entire nation hope that things were going to get better. And if they don’t, we still got to believe it for a little while.
Pull out a newspaper. The front page will littered with failure, a black hole of sorrow threatening the peace and sanity of billions of people, but turn past the front page to the sports section. It will be filled with articles praising the accomplishments of man. Sports have saved us. I already said it; Logically, we shouldn’t believe in anything anymore, but we do. We believe that eleven men on a football field can lift us out of whatever has us trapped. We believe that we may not win all the time but believing in something is better than not believing at all. We believe in seeing the glass half-full. 50 percent means we are favorites to win. 50 percent means things really will get better someday.
