Pro football is back in town! My friends and neighbors can now come out of their seasonal hibernation and go back to living their lives through the triumphs and defeats of total strangers in snazzy uniforms .
I walked into my local supermarket on Monday morning — the Baltimore Ravens were starting the season on Monday Night Football against the newly-christened Las Vegas Raiders — and it seemed like everyone was sporting a purple Ravens jersey with the name of their favorite star on the back. The guys stocking the shelves were doing their best imitations of sports talk radio. And their was a noticeable buzz in the air.
I used to be a sports junkie, until I married a wise Russian lady who helped me come to my senses and realize it was better and more satisfying to go for a bike ride or hike than watch others recreate. It took years to break my old habits, and I still like to watch the occasional playoff game or Super Bowl tilt. And I will listen or read about what’s happening after the fact. But my weekends no longer revolve around watching football.
I was a Colts and Oakland Raiders addict since childhood. As a little boy, I used to go up in my bedroom and cry myself to sleep when the Colts lost; and as a young adult it was not uncommon for me to get into fist fights, defending the honor of Kenny Stabler and the Silver & Black. So I totally understand how football can take over your life.
But why?
I see why people get crazy in support of their college team; if it’s your alma mater, then it’s like family.
But why should someone like myself, living in Annapolis, Maryland, be obsessed with a bunch of overpaid, arrogant, testosterone-dripping athletes who couldn’t care less if I live or die? And, yes, this question applies — probably even more so — to the fanatics in every country who literally worship their soccer teams.
What is it about sport that gives our lives meaning and sends us off the deep end? The root answer undoubtedly lies somewhere deep in our reptilian brain. This is caveman stuff, harkening back to the killing of mastodons and running for our lives, and the pure pleasure and excitement of sharing victory with our mates.
Then there’s the pride factor — if the Baltimore Ravens win, then their fans are winners by association. B’mo be da best, Hon!
But I gotta tell you: for those who aren’t obsessed with Sunday’s big game, it seems like, to quote ol’ Willy the Shake, “A lot of sound and fury signifying nothing.”