Misery comes in many flavors. For some, it’s mint chocolate chip, for others it’s being cold-called in class. Euphoria, too, is diverse in its appearances, yet as diverse as the eliciting factors for each of these feelings are, few things can promote either of these in equal quantity. Drugs, Coney Island and football are among the few things that can lead to some of the best or worst experiences in life (don’t eat the Coney Island chili).
Some of you are no doubt scoffing at the idea that “sportball” could really be that impactful, but let me assure you it is. Football is far too often disregarded as a lunkhead sport where muscle bound dopes run into each other chasing after a ball. This perspective is decidedly unfair; it fails to respect the palpable drama and intrigue of a game beloved by millions. For football fans, watching a game can move them to moments of the purest ecstasy or most bottomless dread. It’s truly a Tony-worthy affair.
I write this article from the un-admirable position of being a Chicago Bears football fan. I was born in Chicago and despite the fact that I only lived there for a year, the fandom was passed onto me by my father – along with his predisposition for lower back problems. Being a Chicago Bears fan is a curious curse; the vast majority of the time it means that Sunday football is accompanied by unadulterated grief. But there are moments where the warm rays of happiness shine through. It is perhaps because of the fact that I am so well acquainted with the cold depths of sporting sorrow that the brief moments of hope feel all the warmer. You might think me melodramatic, but football really is that impactful. It goes beyond the game and becomes something personal, your team’s successes are your successes and their pains are your pains. When you truly care about a football team, you place a piece of your mental wellbeing in their hands.
But why care about a silly football team in the first place, I hear you say? To this, I respond that there isn’t an easy answer. Some people love their team based on family tradition, for others it’s a way of staying in touch with a city or community that they love. I first became interested in the football world in the hopes that I might be able to contribute to middle school lunch discussions about the previous Sunday’s happenings.
People’s personal reasons for loving their football team are incredibly diverse, but it may be as simple as wanting to care about something outside of oneself. For many, football can be an escape into a passion that stands in stark contrast to an otherwise mundane life. For those three or so hours on Sunday, all that matters is the game, come victory or defeat. Don’t get me wrong, you don’t have to be working a dead end cubicle job, living a life you hate to enjoy football (although it probably helps). For football fans, the allure of supporting a football team is no different than escaping into a good novel. Much like a good book, football is overflowing with different dynamics, whether they be hated century long rivalries or the emergence of an underdog story no one saw coming.
Football fans don’t cheer for the crashing of players into each other based on some oafish lust for violence. They cheer because every hit the players take, every inch punishingly fought for, represents their dedication to the team and the fans which it fights for. There’s a reason why close victories and losses are so emotionally powerful. In those games where the teams are truly evenly matched, it comes down to the grit and determination of not just the players but of the tens of thousands of fans in attendance.
If you decide to give football a chance and support a team, I implore you to do so carefully. Don’t throw your support behind a team for a trifling reason like your favorite pop star being engaged to one of their players. Fandom is an incredibly sacred thing, being either foisted upon you by your family, or decided by which team’s colors you liked most as a seven year old. Football is serious business, don’t let the thong wearing mascots fool you.
