Kevin Youkilis charges the mound, thinking he’s been thrown at, changing the entire direction of the game. A fan at a South American soccer match gets irate at the opposing team, rushes the field, and punches one of the players; the game is suspended. I sit at the Giants game, yelling at the Giants to get into a team fight, questioning their spirit, and later post to Twitter, “Fuck the world and the dodgers and their fans,” then tell one Dodger fan who replies that she can eat shit.
Today I’ll be at my fourth Giants game in four days … the Giants have lost every game so far. When I get home, I’ll watch the World Cup qualifier between the USA and Mexico (and I won’t be reading emails or tweets or anything else, because the match is being played while I’m at the Giants game, so don’t be insulted if I ignore you for a few hours).
There are many times when spectator sports seem to me to be a marvelous thing. The last few days, I’ve hated life, sports, and myself, not to mention any human being with the audacity to root for the wrong team. I am not a good person, and it’s hard to see how spectator sports is doing much to help me improve.
Because … and there are larger implications here … I don’t just hate the other team, I hate their supporters. That’s not how it’s supposed to be … that’s how you end up with religious feuds that last for centuries, to take things to a grandiose place. You like the Dodgers, I like the Giants, you wear blue, I hate blue (blue is actually my favorite color, well, teal/turquoise), I hate you for wearing blue, your shirt becomes a symbol of what I hate, I wear orange (showing my colors), suddenly the symbols of our affection become things to fight over. It’s pathetic, and I’m going to go out and do it again today. I need to turn my anger where it belongs: at myself.