I generally think professional sports fandom is kind of dumb.
Just kind of dumb.
There’s a difference.
My watching of every Pretty Little Liars episode is kind of dumb.
My old flame for Perez Hilton (dot com… circa 2009) is stupid.
Sportz! I don’t understand why people care about it all so much. It’s not like those players come from the town they play for.
So do they really represent your people or your city or state? Your struggle?
They’re just the outward-facing arm of huge corporations taking your money based on selling you a dream that isn’t yours to have. And sometimes they hide terrible truths so you keep cheering and filling the stands and buying $7 hot dogs.
Maybe I’m just jaded.
I’m maybe definitely jaded.
But justifiably so, right?
Have we not learned you can’t really trust your heroes? They’re desperately human too. Tiger. OJ. Cosby. Clinton. Clinton. Jackson. Martha. Etc.
But I just watched LeBron and the Cavs break a 52-year championship losing streak for a city in my home state. The sultan of scoring has dribbled his sport’s silly little way into this cold, listless heart.
The best part of this story is that he was a Northeast Ohio boy. Born and raised and prodigal sonned. It doesn’t get much better or relatable than that.
However, I think my favorite part about sports is how reliant they are on structure and time.
There are rules and penalties for breaking them.
It doesn’t matter how hard you played or how far you came back or what you scored.
If your number isn’t higher by the time we get to zero, you lose.
The answer is clear.
Man, in today’s ambiguous world, that shot clock’s exactingness is some straight up poetry.
Even in Cleveland.