Sometimes I wear a shirt with a number and someone else's name on it. That's not the worst part. Sometimes I sit on my couch, get angry, and yell swear words at the person who's name is on the back of my shirt. That's the worst part.
I love the Bulls, Bears, Blackhawks, and White Sox. I love them because I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago and my dad loves them. Basically, the same reasons I love my sister. That was a joke, she disappoints me a lot less.
This is where the problem starts. I love them irrationally and unconditionally, which means my emotions hit the extremes. The level of my happiness has a direct relation with the day-to-day game-playing ability of strangers who make millions of dollars and wear my favorite shirt. Damn, it sounds even more ridiculous when I type it.
When I think about it, loving dudes who wear my favorite shirt and who are among the best at what they do with balls of various sizes and shapes isn't the problem. These are the real problems:
1. Irrational hatred. I throw things, say hurtful things to friends, argue and pout like a child. Lebron James, Chicago Cubs, Green Bay Packers, teams from Detroit among others have caused these same reactions from me. How dare these millionaires with families wear a shirt that's not my favorite? More importantly, how dare my friends like those shirts and wear them in my presence? Idiots.
2. The suckiest bunch of sucks that have ever sucked. Sometimes you really want to wear you favorite shirt, but it's dirty and needs to washed. That sucks. It sucks more when it takes years to clean the shirt and for some crazy reason, you spend money to watch the entire spin cycle. Will the White Sox be better next year? Will I still care? Probably.
Who knows?
3. Why should I do things when I can watch others do things? I'd love to go meet new people, sky dive, go to that concert. How can I do those things when other humans are on TV playing a game wearing a shirt that says Chicago against some weirdos wearing shirts that say Boston? My life can wait.
4. $8 beers, $5 hot dogs, $70 nose bleed seats, $20 parking, traffic. Worth it!
October 26, 2005: one of the greatest nights of my life. The White Sox won the World Series! My dad, my friends, the strangers in the white and black hats and shirts - all one. We smiled, drank beer, cheered, gave high fives, and hugged. All because we love the same talented millionaires.
Sometimes things don't make sense. I don't think I hate to love sports.
Kiss the ring!
