Why Do I Care? A Question of Fandom...

This is actually a note I wrote last May long before the premise of SWF, but I thought this would be a good place to share it as I get ready to hitch my wagon onto another team that will break my heart too many times to count. The good news is I can update the final paragraph with details of being in Orlando for Game 5 and watching the Lakers win the NBA Title in person, as well as being in Pasadena as Alabama did the same.  Unfortunately, I could also update the other paragraphs for another moment of mental instability as I watched Jonathan Broxton pitch around MATT STAIRS en route to blowing a crucial save against the Phillies that ultimately ended the Dodgers' World Series hopes.  I hope this sheds a little light on how seriously I take this and I hope you can relate. If you can't, I hope you get there one day...

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I've started this note probably 5 times in the last two years and each time I've ended up just erasing it and forgetting it. It's too painful to write. I'm usually either trying to write it too soon after one of these catastrophic events or too far removed from the emotion to really capture it. But I'm kind of at the perfect time now. The playoffs are in full swing, flooding me with the painful memories of years past, but these are softened by the hope I have for this year. I'm watching the Bulls/Celtics series and wondering if I'd be able to survive this if it was the Lakers. I really don't think I could have survived it and I can't even imagine how anxious I'd be about Game 7. Bill Simmons pretty much nailed it in his article about Game 6 of the Bulls/Celtics (http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/090501&sportCat=nba)

I've been right there…more times than I want to admit.

I was there in 2005 when I refused to let anyone come into my apartment for Game 5 of the Finals because I knew this game was the end of the Shaq/Kobe era. I wanted to face this alone. I screamed at Shaq. I screamed at Kobe. I pleaded with Phil to go with a Shaq/Kobe/Fox/George/Fishe

r lineup and at least end this thing with the guys who started it. I threw everything that wasn't nailed down in my apartment. When it was over, I sat there…like I always do. I watched the Pistons celebrate. Then I had the conversation with my Dad that I have after every one of these games. The one where he tells me not to get too down, that we'll be back next year, and that it's just a game. The last conversation either of us want to have, but at the same time the only conversation either of us want to have.

I was there last summer after Game 5 of the Finals. I sat there on the couch, stunned for over an hour after the game. I forced myself to watch the post-game interviews, the press conferences, the highlights on SportsCenter. I was completely numb. I went to Wal-Mart at midnight, by myself, and walked around for two hours (literally) thinking about nothing but that game. How do you blow a 24 point lead in the 2nd half of the most important game of the Finals?

I was there in Bryant-Denny stadium too many times to count. The Arkansas OT game in 03. 4th and 19 in OT against Tennessee. I think I was the last one to leave the stadium after the LSU game in 07. Then there was a long drive back from Auburn in 05, and a long drive back from Atlanta this year. Then there were the threats I made against a certain kicker from my friend's basement after the '99 Orange Bowl…

I've got hundreds of stories like this. In the words of Louie De Palma, "that's just the tip of the iceberg. I got stories that will rip your heart out".

And I'm yet to even mention the Dodgers…

This is probably why I have a hatred in my heart for bandwagon fans that is rivaled by few things. Because they haven't been there. They've never had their hearts shredded by a team they've spent entirely too much of their lives following. They don't have to deal with the bad years, they just look elsewhere. If "their team" loses on a buzzer beater, it's not the end of the world. At least they got to see a great game. They've never had the postgame phone calls with their Dad where he talks them off the ledge, promises better times are ahead and reminds them it's just a game, even though they know he is just as crushed as they are.

It's at these moments that I envy the bandwagon fans. I find myself wondering "why do I care so much?" Wouldn't my life be much easier if I could just detach from this, watch as a casual fan and just enjoy the good times? Why did I lose the genetic lottery and end up wired so that a loss by a bunch of guys who I will most likely never meet can emotionally wreck me worse than almost anything that anyone I actually know could do?

Then I think about the other side of the equation…the payoff.

I think about driving back home from Papa John's pizza in 2000 during Game 7 of the Western Conference Finals, everyone insisting to leave against my protest because the game was "over" at the end of the 3rd quarter. I remember searching my radio dial feverously trying to find ANYTHING that might let me know what was going on and finally stumbling across a static-filled broadcast for which I could understand an occasional word. As I got closer to home, I started to make out a little more excitement in the commentator's voice, and heard phrases like "the lead is down to 8" and "Lakers are within 4." I remember speeding into my driveway, running inside and celebrating with my Dad as I came in just in time for the replay of the Kobe-Shaq oop that capped off the comeback that I completely missed…but at that moment I didn't care.

I think about Derek Fisher's "0.4" shot. How I wanted to turn the TV off when Tim Duncan banked in that 3. How I was biting my tongue from saying things I'd regret to everyone I was watching that game with that was celebrating just because they "hated the Lakers". Then when that shot went in, how I didn't even have to say a word.

I think about hugging complete strangers in a state of euphoria when Matt Caddell brought down a TD catch as time expired against Arkansas. I think about watching Neyland Stadium and Death Valley empty out long before the games ended in 2002, then celebrating in those stadiums as time expired with nothing but Alabama fans. I think about just sitting there after the Iron Bowl, staring at the scoreboard, almost expecting the 36¬-0 on it to just disappear because I didn't deserve anything that good.

The saddest part is that I have way too many of the "bad" memories and too few of the "good". But that's what makes the "good" so great. It's remembering how low you were and knowing for that one moment it was well worth it. It's gladly accepting having your heart ripped out hundreds of times for that one time that you're on the other side. It's calling your Dad and neither of you even knowing what to say, but not needing to say a thing.

It's at these moments that I truly feel sorry for the bandwagon fans.