I never had much school spirit. I understood that there was nothing intrinsically superior about my high school and, if I lived on the other side of town, I’d be as passionate for the rival orange-and-black as I was for my own silver-and-red. If our team won, great; if our nemesis won, good for them. They probably deserved to.
My indifference endures. I do enjoy sports, and because I live in the San Francisco Bay Area I root for the baseball Giants and football 49ers. I go way back with both and am happy when they do well. But I’m not emotionally invested and, again, know that if I lived elsewhere my loyalties would be different.
After a while, a fan has to wonder what they’re being loyal to. Players, coaches, and even stadiums come and go. What’s left? The name, the uniform? To quote Jerry Seinfeld, eventually all you’re rooting for is laundry. “You are standing and cheering and yelling for your clothes to beat the clothes from another city.”
Well. It sounds silly if you put it like that . . .
Expand the thought. My flag is better than your flag. My country is better than your country.
Some nations are certainly more powerful, prosperous, and free than others, and I think I’m lucky to live in one of the better ones. I love my country. But obnoxious, chest-thumping, mindless tribalism seemed ridiculous back then; it still seems ridiculous now.
Although it’s OK to hate the Dodgers.
* * *
No comments:
Post a Comment