“My Sport?”
“Competitive eating is not for everyone.”The St. Louis Cardinals recently won the World Series baseball championship. My spouse, a transplanted St. Louis native who has lived in the greater Washington, D.C. area for over twenty years, was joyous. Her brother living in Norfolk and sister now residing in Wisconsin were equally thrilled. I asked whether she received any tangible benefit because that particular business consisting of professional athletes prevailed. “No, that is not the point,” she responded. Then I saw an online posting where a Facebook friend pointed out to another former St. Louis native (who had been enthusing over the Cardinals) that by excluding the Japanese, the contest between American and National League teams was not a bona fide “world series” contest. Like my dour complaint, her comment also came across as churlish. I accept the fact that I feel slightly better on Monday morning if the Redskins win. I prefer the Nationals to win more games than they lose. I like the Wizards to work magic once in a while. On the few occasions that our local – academically superior - high school wins a sports event, I am slightly pleased. Why? Why? Why?
Here is my theory of the proxy. As a child, I can remember daydreaming about being a superhero or at least a person with special powers of flight, invisibility, or strength. In my fantasies, people would fear or admire me. At a minimum, life would become exciting. My imagination could create endless stories about rolling over bullies, surviving on a deserted island, or capturing the charms of a lovely damsel. No matter how much pee wee football I tossed around with Jay, stickball I played with Jeffrey, or basketball I played with Jack, I would not make the Columbia High School football, baseball, or basketball squads. Wrestling, track, swimming, golf and tennis were not available for an enthusiastic but mediocre athlete. In addition to wanting individual recognition, we are also herd animals. We want closeness with others with whom we seek mutual protection. True, we like to believe on some level that we are unique individuals (Mr. Rogers told us that we are special); however, conformity provides its own strength and safety. When a local team wins, we feel like we are part of that effort.
Here is my theory of the proxy. As a child, I can remember daydreaming about being a superhero or at least a person with special powers of flight, invisibility, or strength. In my fantasies, people would fear or admire me. At a minimum, life would become exciting. My imagination could create endless stories about rolling over bullies, surviving on a deserted island, or capturing the charms of a lovely damsel. No matter how much pee wee football I tossed around with Jay, stickball I played with Jeffrey, or basketball I played with Jack, I would not make the Columbia High School football, baseball, or basketball squads. Wrestling, track, swimming, golf and tennis were not available for an enthusiastic but mediocre athlete. In addition to wanting individual recognition, we are also herd animals. We want closeness with others with whom we seek mutual protection. True, we like to believe on some level that we are unique individuals (Mr. Rogers told us that we are special); however, conformity provides its own strength and safety. When a local team wins, we feel like we are part of that effort.
By proxy, we prevail.
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