“Which team is
Liverpool?” I asked Ben. He too was
transfixed by the men kicking the white ball at each other.
Ben is from Chile, where he recently graduated with a degree in business. He was here to backpack around the UK and parts of Europe. His parents saved up the money for him to explore the world, and he was able to cut costs by living at home, a normal trend for twenty-somethings in Chile. In Chile, he explained, young adults are very dependent on their parents and the maids hired to do the housework. Judging by how slowly he sorted his clothes, I could tell he was not accustomed to doing his own laundry.
“The white ones,” Ben
answered, not speaking of race but instead indicating the players with white
jerseys.
“I feel like an
ignorant woman watching American football.
I have no idea what’s going on.” The
joke was lost on him. Maybe it was an
example of gringo humor, an American
style of rowdy comedy that Chileans find stupid. Most likely, Ben was too focused on the game
to process my simile.
The Liverpudlians
kicked the ball near the net, but the other team kicked it away toward the
other end of the field. The locals in
the pub saw this as a reason to get upset and utter curses like Bloody shite! I observed this repetitive
action to be the reason why I and my fellow country-men largely ignore the
world’s most popular sport. Soccer, to
me, seemed a series of disappointments.
The game oscillates between false hopes and yet another letdown. But there was always the potential
to score, and this opportunity always hung in the back of the fans’ minds and seized
their bodies with nervous anticipation.
Before watching the
World Cup, I thought soccer was a silly game, and the low scores translated to
unproductive offenses. While I still
believe that there are too many players on the field, I have grown to respect
the game. The main reason I changed my mind is
the camaraderie of the fans, who love those athletic strangers just as much as the
guy sitting on the next barstool. I can
imagine European countries going to war with each other over a scrappy soccer
game. (In fact, during the World Cup,
the Brits burned Italian flags in the streets after being eliminated in the
first round.) The fans exude heavy doses
of energy, and sometimes they get too boisterous, but the great thing about
soccer is the national pride it brings out of people, even if it makes them crazy.
I remember watching
the US game versus Ghana in the first round of the World Cup. My flight was delayed at the JFK Airport, and
I stood outside a restaurant’s dining area and watched the game while I waited
for my plane. A huge huddle of fans surrounded me, and we all stood there
for twenty minutes and obstructed foot-traffic in the airport. When the US scored the go-ahead goal, the
crowd erupted with excitement and caused such a spectacle that the restaurant
servers recorded the scene on their smartphones. Only soccer could have created this spontaneous
congregation. We were from all over the country. We were waiting for our planes to take us to back home Pennsylvania, Virginia, Minnesota,
and Massachusetts, but that didn’t matter.
We were all cheering for the Americans. I’m not saying the sport made me
feel like I knew these strangers any better, but it was comforting to know we
were all hoping for the same outcome.
Back at the pub in
Liverpool, the teams on the TV tied at the end of regulation. As disgruntled fans found their way to the
exit, Ben and I sat down at a table. He
ordered a Jack and Coke and sipped his whiskey concoction. He asked me about my writing, as he saw me
jotting in my notebook in the hostel kitchen.
I told him about my last journal entry.
I did my best to explain what I learned from visiting The Museum of
Liverpool and an exhibit on the Beatles.
From there, I combined those lessons with my thoughts on succumbing to
homelessness, which was a rampant problem in Liverpool.
During my brief
visit, I began to understand how the physical space of a nation can often
determine the habits and mindset of its people.
Specific environments encourage certain creatures to evolve in order to
thrive in their homelands. The
chameleon, for instance, has adapted to blend into its surroundings to hide
from predators. Peacocks, on the other
hand, developed radiant plumage to attract mates. Just like animals, people develop skills to
use their land to their advantage.
The Liverpudlians’ primary
income source came from the international shipping docks. Liverpool was able to become a working-class
town all because rising sea levels created the city’s river. This dominant mode of life gave the city a
distinct personality. The
geography of the land shaped its people, and, in turn, they became emotionally attached to the land.
After a few moments
of silence, I segued into the manly topic of
sports.
“I read in a book
about England,” I began, “And the author compared its soccer teams to American
sports teams. Our teams in the States
will relocate to a more profitable city, but that would never happen in
England.”
If Liverpool’s
football team moved to a different city, I suspect many of its fans would
follow.
“That’s true,” Ben
said. “If there is no money, the team
will move somewhere else.”
“Like how the
Seattle Sonics moved to Oklahoma City.
Now Seattle doesn’t have a team.”
Although these
movements are saddening because fans are abandoned, these capitalist pursuits
are practical. Why pay players millions
of dollars if not enough people show up to watch the games and buy the
merchandise? However, when sports teams
are viewed as businesses and their games as products, communal feelings begin
to fade. I do not feel connected to
strangers who happen to own iPhones or wear Nikes or drive Toyotas. The business side usually lingers in the
background. The main component of sports
is emotional attachment to teams.
Rooting for sports
teams is a form of social bonding. When I
root for the Pittsburgh Steelers, I’m part of an in-group, which defines
itself by everything that isn’t included.
We value the members of our clan, and we support each other against our
enemies. We hate the Ravens because they
aren’t Steelers. Their opposition to our
forces gives us life. We should respect
our opponents because if no one opposed us, there’d be no reason to play. But not all football fans are noble warriors.
Nearly every aspect
of fandom is a bizarre form of worship except the selection of one's favorite team. Ultimately, many fans become irrationally attached to teams for very
practical reasons, even though it initially seems the decision was not made consciously. When I started
rooting for the Steelers, there was no meet-cute. I never thought about choosing a favorite
team. My answer was automatic, and I never
questioned it. But when I analyze why I
chose the Steelers I believe it is because nearly everyone around me did. Although I didn’t consciously admit this to
myself, I probably wanted to fit in with my fellow fans. By sharing common interests with others, I would
feel less alienated.
From an evolutionary
standpoint, the group survived better if everyone was on the same page. Loners and outcasts were banished because they
threatened the safety of the union.
Maybe we have not shed ourselves of this primal instinct, and that is why we
cheer for the local teams and growl at our adversaries. I have a friend from my hometown who roots
for the Dallas Cowboys, even though their stadium is thousands of miles
away. He always liked to see people
suffer, so it was only natural he rooted against the home team. My brother once liked the Rams because of Kurt Warner. It is possible that my brother wished to emulate qualities of Kurt Warner, so by watching him and following his team he hoped to become a more successful leader with a winning image.
The selection of our
favorite team undoubtedly has psychological roots whether we can recognize them
or not. On the surface, many of us root for the
home-town teams because their games are always broadcasted, and our houses lie
within a certain radius of the stadium.
I didn’t choose to be born in western Pennsylvania, but because that
happened I stood a likely chance of becoming a Steelers fan. On a more visible level, fandom is passed
down through generations, and these family ties add emotional depth to one’s
connection to a particular team. Memories
of watching games with my family make the tradition more enriching.
When we watch our
favorite team on Sunday, there is a communal energy and a sense of belonging
that envelopes us and tingles our nerves.
Touchdowns are more thrilling and losses are more disappointing if they
happen to our team. Our local teams represent us, the fans. In turn, we cheer them on while they’re on the
national stage. Rooting for your favorite
team is not always about winning, although the competition is known to cloud a
man’s judgment. Being a fan is about
forging connections with your neighbors and knowing that in some small way you
share the same sliver of identity.
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