By Tim Marcin
Elm Sports Editor
The tumbling sea of purple and black was relegated to a soft drifting tide with all the force of a kiddie pool this past Monday. I am, of course, referring to the quiet suffering of the countless Baltimore football fans on campus after the Ravens gave away the game against a struggling Jacksonville Jaguars team. The dedicated fans felt the loss—they genuinely cared about the heartbreaking, pathetic loss.
I overheard a conversation on my way to campus the Tuesday after the game:
Girl: Your Ravens let you down.
Guy: I know, I know (in an exhausted tone).
Let me pose a question: Do you think Joe Flacco feels genuinely hurt by the loss? Sure, I bet he is disappointed with the loss. I bet he thinks he could do better and feels like he let people down. I bet he fears for his livelihood. I do not think, however, that it pains his soul.
This is not a knock to Joe Flacco—I think most athletes feel this way. They are too close to the subject, they are living the moment. If they cared as much as us devoted fans do, every mistake would crush them, and their career would not last very long. At the end of the day, playing sports is their job, and while they care about their performance, they do not live and die with it. Are accountants heartbroken every time they make a mistake on a client’s taxes?
Speaking from experience, a few years back I had the good fortune of eating a meal with then Phillies leftfielder Pat Burrel. At the time (before helping the Phillies to a championship and leading the team down Broad Street in the subsequent parade), Pat was struggling mightily and receiving the brunt of criticism from fans, sportswriters, and experts alike. Yet he spoke of this situation like it was unwarranted, as if he could not understand why everyone was on his case. When he found out I played baseball, he said something along the lines of, “give it up now before they get to you.” I was dumbfounded. How could he not see why people were angry? How could he not know that Phillies fans (such as myself) lived and breathed this stuff, that when he and the team failed it literally hur?.
Think of any youth sport you may have played. Think of the parents. There was undoubtedly at least one parent who constantly screamed, yelled, and generally lost their mind. There was almost certainly a stereotypical “soccer mom” as well, hovering over every last detail of every game. Remember how you felt as the youth player? Hell, most of us were playing for the oatmeal cream pies after the game; we could have cared less whether we won or lost. Well in some ways the modern, dedicated sports fan is that same screaming parent or soccer mom. We have our hearts invested in the game in a way the athletes do not.
Now I am not saying athletes care as little as kiddie-kickers playing for oatmeal cream pies—but athletes are largely motivated by the “cream” in their contracts. They go out on the field , court, ice, etc. and it is something they do day after day. They simply cannot care as much as we do. To ride that rollercoaster of emotion daily would drive them to insanity. Instead, they go out and play hard, try to win, and let the chips fall where they may.
Phillie Shane Victorino caught flak recently for friendly tweeting with rival players and seeming generally happy soon after the Phillies were eliminated from the MLB playoffs. He apologized to fans, but one can imagine he was surprised by the outrage. Why should he not enjoy himself—the season is over? Countless fans in Phillies red (like myself), seem to disagree, distraught over the shocking end to the season. Maybe we are the problem. Like the crazy Dad at a Little League game, perhaps we are yelling in futility. Perhaps its time we let things go—like the athletes we love so much.