sports

I grew up in a sports household. Perhaps not as "rabid" as some, as neither my siblings nor i played high school sports...although i suspect we enjoyed our backyard volleyball as much anyone ever enjoyed any game. Inside, it was spectator sports. We followed our teams, enjoying inter-house rivalries. It was a big part of the life of my father, brothers, and i (but of course not Mom and sis). Dad exposed us early and often - i have wonderful memories of trips to Veterans Stadium to see the Phillies (i'm sure there's never been a better mascot than the Phanatic). Sometimes Dad had fancy seats, but we preferred the nosebleed sections - you could jump around. On TV, it was football, basketball, and baseball (Dad loved hockey, but the goonishness rubbed me the wrong way). Hardly any of us shared a favorite team in any sport. This was in part because of contentiousness. Dad rooted for Philadelphia teams, and because of the nature of our relationship, it was a given that i wouldn't.
In baseball i followed the Reds because i lived in Ohio from five to ten, and was exposed to the excitement of the Big Red Machine. I remember schoolyard debates over who the best Reds player was. For me, it was always Pete Rose. Charlie Hustle. The five years he was a Phillie (and his one season in Montreal) are the only years of my youth i wasn't a Reds fan. Reading the sports section was a big part of my passion, moreso than my brothers. In baseball particularly, it was always about my favorite player. I cared about the team, but was more concerned with how Pete did. After Pete it was Eric Davis, then Barry Larkin, then Ken Griffey, Jr. Reading my Dad's weekly Sports Illustrated was a beloved part of those years. I loved Frank Deford. Whenever one of our teams made the cover, it would go up on the wall of the Pit, our sports-themed TV room.
In football, i chose my team based upon what would annoy my Eagle-loving father the most: the Cowboys. Tom Landry was possibly the most dignified human ever. My favorites were Dorsett, Staubach, Randy and Danny White, Bill Bates, Too Tall Jones, Herschel Walker...and later, though i loathed Jerry Jones and initially Jimmy Johnson too, i reveled in the teams of Aikman, Smith, and Irvin. The Cowboys were so well-covered that most weekends their game was televised. We would all get decked out in our team's shirts...i think for one big game i had on no less than seven articles of Cowboy paraphenalia. Once or twice we even hung scorecard banners over our garage. Dad would let us stay up to watch Monday Night Football, and the magic of Cosell and Meredith was a joyous thing. On Thanksgiving, we would leave the dinner table to watch the game (a gesture which separated the men and women, and one which i felt increasingly ambivalent about as i got older).
I felt my first excitement for basketball when Magic joined the Lakers in 1980. Those showtime teams, and the rivalry with Boston, inspired loyalty which has lasted to this day. I knew those 80s squads inside and out.
I remember the moment of epiphany when my love for spectator sports began to wane. In my first year of college, i had put up posters in my dorm room of my favorite players, and one day i looked up and said "why"? Why did i have huge pictures of people i'd never met, most of whom were overindulged and overpaid, if not steroid-takers or cokeheads? All they did was play a game, something i could do myself anytime i wished. By sophomore year, the posters were gone. I still followed my teams, but less and less every year. A large part of my apathy stemmed from my dislike for voyeurism. And as i grew up, i felt ever-increasing identification with those who were alienated by the male sports culture. Men who were uncomfortable with real emotional intimacy, seeking an outlet. So much passion going into non-participatory mindlessness. If we ever get as excited about Nobel and Pulitzer as we did about Namath and Pele, what wonders will we accomplish?
If i'm reading a newspaper these days, i'll skim the sports section, and i still read Dad's Sports Illustrateds when i visit. Reilly is every bit as wonderful as Deford was, but fewer articles are likely to interest me. Griffey's joined the White Sox, and that's the box score i now seek out...which makes me suspect that when he retires, my baseball devotion may as well. These days i pretty much only watch sports if i'm in the company of somebody who is doing so. It can be nice to re-visit my old teams, but i haven't seen an entire Reds game in many years, and it's by no means a given that i'll see an entire Cowboys or Lakers game each season. If i'm at a Super Bowl party (and that's a big if), i usually end up doing something more social, away from the TV. I was a bit excited that the Lakers had returned to the finals this year, against the Celtics no less, but i think i only saw part of one game. I suspect the lure of sports will never completely die for me...i got sucked into one event this decade, when the Red Sox beat the Yankees to lift the Curse of the Bambino. Schillings' bloody foot, the Yankees payroll an affront to the very concept of fair play, the ridiculously improbable and dramatic games, it was all just...magnificent.
Ambivalence about cherished pieces of one's youth...the price of being born male in the twentieth century.