The Otter Lodge Guide to Being a Sports Fan

fans_M_basketball_crowd01Ah, March Madness is upon us, that magical time when we root for the underdog, stare at the TV for 8-hour increments, and gleefully steal company time. It’s the return of Selection Sunday, the Boss Button, and hordes of spittle-screaming fans everywhere. Stars will be born, dreams will be broken, and Luther Vandross will again become relevant for one night. And I will continue to beat to death the rule of three within my sentence structure. All is well.

As a card-carrying sports fan, I love March Madness, just as I love the Super Bowl and the NBA Finals. Heck, I even love Major League Baseball’s opening day, even if I don’t particularly care for the 8 ½ monotonous months of ballgames that follow. These sorts of sports moments are what we cherish. But even the best sporting events come packaged with sports fans, and as you may know, sports fans have a tendency to be the worst.

Sports fans in a nutshell: loud, obnoxious, delusional, drunk. To help understand my feelings on the matter, I’ll point to a passage from an earlier sports-related musing on this very website:

…every single fan base will annoy you if you get close enough to them. I live in Colorado, and Broncos fans annoy the hell out of me, but that’s only because they surround me and their team has given them something to be loud about. If you’re a fan of any team, you’re annoying too. I’m annoying. We all suck. It’s just how it works.

It’s often pointed out that the word “fan” is derived from “fanatic.” These are people who make large emotional, temporal, and often financial investments into grown men playing catch. People who metaphorically live and die with the fortunes of teams to which they have no connection – in contests in which they have no control. People who literally yell at the TV.

And I’m one of them. Despite recognizing the obvious shortcomings of our kind, being a sports fan is way too fun to quit. Have you tried yelling at the TV? It is thoroughly enjoyable. As are the ballgames themselves, as long as you keep things in perspective. So instead, I try to focus on being a better sports fan. Here’s how:

Cheer. But not like an asshole.

It’s a game. It’s supposed to be fun. Make it fun. Support your team, joke with your friends, but don’t be a dick. A little good-natured razzing is fine – even encouraged – but calling a rival fan just to remind them their team lost and yours won and IN YOUR FACE BEYOTCH!!! makes you an annoying person people probably don’t want to be around very much. Because even if your team DID win – and hey, congrats! – you had nothing to do with it. Nothing. Which reminds me…

Them or they. Not us or we.

You love your team. You root for your team. But you are not part of your team, no matter what the marketing department tells you. Please do not refer to the team as “we,” unless you are a player, coach, or member of the support staff*. Yes, you buy jerseys and attend games. This does not make you part of the organization. Do you refer to United Airlines as “we” every time you fly somewhere? Of course not.

*One caveat: college sports. If you’re an alum of a school, it’s ALLOWABLE to use the collective “we” when discussing that school’s teams. Borderline, but allowable. $60k in tuition and crippling student debt earns that privilege. And after all, you were once a member of the same student body from which said team gets its semi-professional players student athletes.

Do not make your fandom your identity.

“So, what do you like to do? What are your hobbies?”

“Well, I’m a really big Bills fan.”

First of all, I’m sorry. Second, no. Fandom is not a hobby. It’s not something you do. It’s observing other people do things. Be a fan by all means, but don’t only be a fan.

Last names are just fine.

I often see fans on the internet write things like “Willie just isn’t getting it done,” as if the starting power forward for Kentucky is a close friend with whom they are on a first-name basis. In sports, last names are the way to go. Or full names, or even nicknames. I admit, in fits of passion, more than once I’ve been guilty of uttering an “Adrian” or a “Ricky,” but I’m working on it.

It’s just a game.

You get one hour after a loss to be pissed. Three if it’s the playoffs, the rest of the day if it’s a championship. Bitch, tweet, rage-drink, etc., for this amount of time, then move on. No use in letting something over which you have no control affect your state of mind longer than that.

Who the Hell is Winter Vandebeer?

Greetings, team. No rambling incoherencies on the blog today, just a quick note about a new venture. As of today, I’m going to be doing some writing for The Donnybrook Writing Academy at godonnybrook.com. Donnybrook is an elite group of Denver socialites who share their impeccable taste with the world through writing. Or something like that. Seriously though, it’s a funny an interesting site – it’s been mentioned by Westword and the A.V. Club – and I’m pretty pumped to be a part of it. I’ll be mostly covering sports. You can see my first post here: http://godonnybrook.com/v3/our-new-director-of-diversions-has-entered-the-manse/

So what’s with the name? Well, being a hip collection of esteemed ladies and gentlemen, Donnybrook can’t just have any old moniker gracing its pages. So I had to change mine, and I think the new one is more fitting.

Happy reading!

The Greatest Rant In Sports History

Why do we love watching people get angry? Watching them lose their shit? Witnessing them meltdown, raise their voice, and finally express just how pissed off they really are?

For some reason, being there when someone else throws a fit of rage in a public fashion makes a lot of us happy. It’s an inverse effect. And this is especially apt in sports; we love watching sports figures rant and rave. Probably because they’re so composed most of the time, giving stock answers and blank stares, dodging questions in postgame interviews, toeing the company line, and avoiding anything resembling emotion. They desperately avoid telling us what they’re really thinking, and I’d be willing to go out on a limb and say most of them probably don’t even know why they do this. It’s just what they’ve been taught since sixth grade: feelings are bad, so don’t share them with the public. Most coaches/managers/owners preach this religiously, for they seem to think any shred of internal truth that’s shared with the public will surely sink the ship. They might be right; I don’t know. And I don’t really care.

The point is, when a sports figure goes off, we love it. It’s spontaneous and unintended, so we know we’re getting the genuine article. Most coaches don’t ever want to show emotion, so when they do, it’s clear they’re straying from the script. Which is awesome. We finally get to hear something real. What a day!

Coaches tend to be more well-spoken than players, plus they fear fewer repercussions – a coach can’t discipline himself, and I’ve yet to hear of one getting fired for a rant – so when they go off, they really get after it. And we celebrate the rant for years – ESPN will replay it constantly, and YouTube has itself another star. Everyone loves a classic coach rant. Denny Green made our week when he informed us the Bears were who they thought they were. Mike Singletary (re)won America’s heart with his impassioned plea for integrity. Jim Mora is just a weird little man. Mike Gundy had possibly the longest sustained streak of neck-vein bulging we’ve ever seen. Jim Calhoun verbally curb-stomped a reporter. And you could spend a month watching Bob Knight’s best stuff, and still probably not get through it all.

These men are the legends of the field, and for that I commend them. But none of these is the greatest coaching rant of all time. No my friends, that title belongs to short-lived and mostly unsuccessful Chicago Cubs manager Lee Elia. Lee managed the Cubbies from 1982-1983, and did little of note from the dugout. But on April 29, 1983, after another loss which dropped his club to 5-14 on the year, he had had enough. Fans in the stands had been consistently booing and heckling the team, and Elia was not going to take it anymore. So in a postgame meeting with reporters, he went off like an atomic bomb. Unfortunately, being 1983, TV cameras did not exist, nor did fluorescent lights, indoor plumbing, or automobiles, I assume. Anyway, the rant was not recorded on video. But luckily for us, a shrewd ol’ dog named Les Grobstein got the audio on tape. Great work Les!

Now I give you the greatest rant in coaching history. Lock the doors, hide the children, turn down the volume if you’re at work, and find a room away from your parents if you’re 14 or younger – this clip is obscene. Like seriously, saying it contains offensive language is like saying New York City contains man-made structures. Lee was not one to mince words, and for this I love him. I don’t think censoring was invented yet, either, so if you’re offended by profanity, I’m going to need you to either develop a sense of humor or just leave.

(pause)

Still there? Great. I knew you wouldn’t bail after all that buildup. Without further ado:

Here it is.

Isn’t that great? He had absolutely no regard for tact or self-restraint; he didn’t care who heard him or what they thought. He even explicitly told the reporters to “print it!” Outstanding. The man just murders his own fans! The people that essentially pay his paycheck, but Lee Elia doesn’t care. Lee Elia doesn’t give a shit, he just does what he wants. What an outstanding display of keeping it real.

Lee Elia: the greatest rant in sports history. I’m giving him the title. See? The Cubs have won something in the last 100 years.