In the middle of my sophomore year, around 100 of my fraternity brothers and I watched the New England Patriots play the Seattle Seahawks in Super Bowl XLIX at the Pike house. I was one of three people cheering for the Patriots, and we had endured hours of taunts, jeers, and chants that are too vulgar to repeat here. However, things were looking pretty good for my team. After starting the fourth quarter down 10 points, Tom Brady had thrown two touchdowns, and the defense had to hold on to our four point lead for just two minutes. I was excited, and a little nervous as the Seahawks began to march down the field, but not overly worried. After all, there was only a minute and 15 seconds left in the game, and the end zone was still 38 yards away. Russell Wilson caught the snap, dropped back, threw down the right sideline, and disaster struck.
"Not again." That's all I could think. I couldn't hear the room erupt in cheers after such an amazing play. I couldn't feel the person shaking me in amazement. I couldn't hear the chants, even though they were louder than ever, as Marshawn Lynch ran the ball to the one yard line. What I did feel was completely empty. "Not again." It was all too weird, and too familiar.
Seven years earlier, the New England Patriots played the New York Giants in Super Bowl XLIX. Seven years earlier, the Patriots scored a touchdown to give themselves a four-point lead with just over two minutes left in the game. Seven years earlier, with a minute and 15 seconds left in the game, the Patriots' opponent made one of the greatest catches in NFL history.
To make things even weirder, both games were played in the University of Phoenix Stadium in Glendale, Arizona. Even though I was in middle school for Super Bowl XLII, and in college for Super Bowl XLIX, that empty feeling was exactly the same. One of the best parts of being a sports fan is that, no matter how old you get, those emotions you feel never change, and you know that everyone else who loves sports has felt it too.
I absolutely hate it when someone asks, "Why do you care so much? It's just a game." On the surface, they're right, it is just another form of entertainment. What they don't understand is the investment fans make in their teams. It's not just the money a fan spend on jerseys or tickets. Its the hours they spend reading articles about their team online. Its checking twitter in the middle of a meeting or a class to see if a beat writer posted something interesting. It's staying up late to watch a crapy, illegal stream of some meaningless regular season game because they don't want to pay for a crazy expensive cable package. When you follow a team that closely, you see each team has a personality. Maybe you have a team that plays dirty like the Detroit Pistons of the 80s and early 90s. Maybe your team is completely selfless is dedicated to a system like the current San Antonio Spurs. Getting to know your team makes that emotional attachment so much stronger. If its normal for a person to get attached to a character in a book or tv show, and get upset when that character dies, its ok to be upset when your team loses.
Sports also let you belong to something so much bigger than yourself. How many other forms of entertainment could convince 90,000 people wearing maroon to sit in Kyle Field and hate the other 10,000 who are wearing that disgusting LSU purple. One of my favorite things about leaving Kyle Field is hearing everyone sing the War Hymn as we all walk down the exit ramps. That sense of camaraderie is pretty rare. This unity fostered by sports can help heal a community after a tragedy. Think about when the New York Mets beat the Atlanta Braves in the first game in New York after 9/11 or when the New Orleans Saints beat the Atlanta Falcons in the Superdome in the first game after Hurricane Katrina.
By now I hope we've established its ok to get emotional about your team. That empty feeling horrible. That feeling can ruin your day. Its thinking that all the time you spent reading about your team, talking to other fans on message boards, and looking up the cheapest airline tickets to get to a game was a huge waste. Its seeing the heartbroken look on the faces of the players you've grown to love. Its not checking your phone when it buzzes because you know its your friends making fun of you. I've felt it watching the Patriots lose two Super Bowls in heart breaking fashion. I know Spurs fans have felt it watching Ray Allen hit that corner 3 at the end of game 6. Judging by the reaction on twitter, I bet a lot of Aggies watching last Sunday's baseball game felt that same familiar feeling watching TCU score unearned run after unearned run and eventually ending A&M's season.
So considering you're most likely going to feel that empty feeling at least once per season, is it even worth it?
Short answer: yes.
Long answer: God yes.
Lets go back to Super Bowl XLIX. It's second and goal and there's only 25 seconds left. The Seahawks have one of the best running backs in the NFL. I can think a little better, only now I'm trying to figure out a route to the door that lets me avoid as many people as possible. My plan was to watch the Seahawks score and Tom Brady throw one desperate Hail Mary, then be in my car on the way home before the two coaches finished shaking hands. Wilson snapped the ball and, going against all logic and reason dropped back to pass, and it took me a few seconds to comprehend what happened next.
The winning feeling is the complete opposite of the empty feeling. You just burst with relief and joy and pride and excitement. You realize that when you turn on SportsCenter in the morning, they're going to be celebrating your team. You get to see your players holding your trophy as they ride on floats through your city during the victory parade. Your friends are dumb because their team isn't as good as yours. Its honestly one of the best feelings in the world.
So, no, it's not just a game.
