Saturday morning, I had the opportunity to meet Heisman trophy winning quarterback , two time national champion, SEC Network analyst, possible figure of salvation, and one of my favorite athletes, Tim Tebow. The two of us were able to have a couple minutes of friendly conversation about football and Thanksgiving and get a picture together. It was hands downs one of the most surreal experiences of my life. In the subsequent few hours, my South Carolina Gamecocks would manage to lose to The Citadel, an FCS opponent who ran up and down the field on the Gamecocks' depleted and defeated defense. Then, when I thought things couldn't get any worse on the gridiron, my Ohio State Buckeyes got punched in the mouth over and over again by Michigan State and lost on a buzzer beating field goal because the offensive troubles that have haunted the team all season were exposed by the first elite team on the schedule. Both losses were depressing, frustrating, and heartbreaking in their own ways, and I went to bed conflicted over what to take away from the day.
Sunday morning, the sun came up, but the losses still stung. As I did some soul searching, I started to realize just how disappointing the college football season has been for myself because of the two teams I support. Outside of Braxton Miller's "You Can't Even Do That In Madden" spin move on Labor Day, there has been nothing but consternation for my teams. For South Carolina, Steve Spurrier abandoned ship. The team failed to win a single road game. They were unable to qualify for a bowl game for the first time in years. Then, the FCS Bulldogs beat us. For Ohio State, there were the suspensions of a few of the team's leaders over the summer. The offensive juggernaut prophesied since January couldn't reach its potential week after week after week. JT Barrett was pulled over and suspended for driving while intoxicated. Then, the Spartans rolled into the Horseshoe and dominated behind the play a pair of backup quarterbacks. I knew South Carolina would more than likely struggle again this fall. I knew Ohio State the unstoppable favorite wouldn't be nearly as fun to root for as Ohio State the taken for granted underdog. Yet this third weekend of November hurt more than I could have imagined.
Because of my decision to attend a university below the Mason-Dixon Line, I take quite a bit of crap for supporting my hometown's school. It comes with the territory, and despite an essentially nonexistent, logical rationale for this pure hatred for the Buckeyes, I deal with it. What I don't tolerate nearly as well is being mocked, or any die hard fan being mocked in general, for a response to his or her team's loss. I struggled with how to best put this grievance into words, so I went to the place that can answer any question with an inspirational phrase: Google. I ended up finding this quote from Dear John, one of Nicholas Sparks' novels.
“The saddest people I've ever met in life are the ones who don't care deeply about anything at all. Passion and satisfaction go hand in hand, and without them, any happiness is only temporary, because there's nothing to make it last.”
While I'd almost guarantee the quote relates to an enduring, romantic relationship that overcomes all odds and adversity, Sparks' simultaneously captures why a loss can impact the loyalest of fans all the way to their souls with those two sentences. Growing up, I played about a half dozen different sports at varying degrees of competitiveness. I can vividly recall how it felt coming up short in a game alongside my teammates and friends. I can remember the few clutch moments and far more numerous embarrassing mistakes in my athletic career. Whether your interest comes from playing the sport you loved as a kid, memories you made from attending games, fervent conversation with your friends and family about your local teams, or some combination of the three, many people, like myself, had sports become a huge part of their life as they grew up. I can't imagine my weekends in the fall if I was ignorant about where College Gameday was setting up or who I needed to pick up to secure a win in fantasy football. I can't imagine March without the impossible, annual quest to complete a perfect bracket. I can't picture myself spending money on tickets to the opera when I could spend a night at the ballpark instead. An undying passion for sports essentially became a core part of myself over 20 years and an indefinite number of experiences.
In context of the second half of Sparks' passage above, the satisfaction comes from winning. And for the teams I support, there has been a pathetically small number of wins. The great thing about sports, however, is the optimistic mantra of "There's always next year..." feeds my addiction, and the addiction of so many others, season after season. Year after year, a contender or two is able to rise from the depths of the defeated to become a contender. But when your team does win a championship, you figure out the hard way that happiness in sports persists for far shorter than in any other activity it can be derived from. As soon as a championship coronation concludes, every other team begins clamoring and fighting to get on the stage next year for their moment in the sun. Rival fan bases claim your title run as a fluke. Departed players and newcomers are analyzed. Excitement and hype build each day as the season inches closer. Finally, in a couple blinks of the eye, the grind to stay on type resumes before the last of the confetti can even be cleared from the field. All of this adds up to why the most ardent supporters will take the losses that rob their chances of reclaiming this short-lived euphoria so poorly.
Thanksgiving is built around refection and appreciation for the people, places, and passions that we have in our lives. It's easy to articulate and see the differences and importance of the physical factors, but explaining the most important intangible influences in your life to somebody else can be an incredibly difficult task. And why is this in a world where a debate on inclusion has consumed much of our affairs in the past few weeks? Many times when we see somebody react with a lot of emotion, either positive or negative, we tend to shy away from encounters in the moments after. As the holiday season gets into swing today, I challenge you to curb that reactionary habit. When we build our relationships and conversations around the most important parts of each other's lives, such as these passions that we occasionally can't control how they affect us, the benefit and feeling received by both parties is memorable and meaningful. You might see somebody like myself take his team's loss with an unhealthy amount of anger and sadness. But after talking to him, you learn some of his earliest and favorite memories took place in the local arena where they play with a family member that's no longer around. You might witness somebody crying during the middle of a song. But after talking to her, you discover those three and a half minutes on repeat got her through a battle she thought she was never going to win. You might hear a group of people singing carols with too much enthusiasm and noise in the mall. But after talking to them, you connect with the fact the friends met in college and have been reuniting annually ever since they all graduated. Give thanks for all of these stories you know about your closest friends and family, but don't be afraid to understand more about the neighbors and strangers around you.
Now, as some time has passed after the events of November 21, 2015, I realize that I will always recall this November day when I look back at my college years down the line with an exact system of prioritization. The shameful performance by the Gamecocks to a lesser, instate opponent won't be forgotten, yet the countless other experiences on Carolina Gamedays a bit further down on memory lane will overwhelm the effect of one embarrassing loss. I'll be able to visualize the Michigan State kicker's walk-off celebration in the Horseshoe, but I'll remind myself of the voices of Buckeye fans in AT&T Stadium chanting "ZEKE" to cap off a national title ten months earlier to cope. What will stand out most is a perfect recollection of my few minutes with Mr. Tebow. That conversation meant so much to me that I could never accurately capture it with a few sentence or paragraphs on the screen you are reading this on. I truly hope everyone reading this can enjoy a physical representation of one of your life's most driving influences, like this conversation was for me. And I long for the day where we can support and appreciate each other's passions no matter how foreign or intense they might appear at first glance.
J. Nave
In context of the second half of Sparks' passage above, the satisfaction comes from winning. And for the teams I support, there has been a pathetically small number of wins. The great thing about sports, however, is the optimistic mantra of "There's always next year..." feeds my addiction, and the addiction of so many others, season after season. Year after year, a contender or two is able to rise from the depths of the defeated to become a contender. But when your team does win a championship, you figure out the hard way that happiness in sports persists for far shorter than in any other activity it can be derived from. As soon as a championship coronation concludes, every other team begins clamoring and fighting to get on the stage next year for their moment in the sun. Rival fan bases claim your title run as a fluke. Departed players and newcomers are analyzed. Excitement and hype build each day as the season inches closer. Finally, in a couple blinks of the eye, the grind to stay on type resumes before the last of the confetti can even be cleared from the field. All of this adds up to why the most ardent supporters will take the losses that rob their chances of reclaiming this short-lived euphoria so poorly.
Thanksgiving is built around refection and appreciation for the people, places, and passions that we have in our lives. It's easy to articulate and see the differences and importance of the physical factors, but explaining the most important intangible influences in your life to somebody else can be an incredibly difficult task. And why is this in a world where a debate on inclusion has consumed much of our affairs in the past few weeks? Many times when we see somebody react with a lot of emotion, either positive or negative, we tend to shy away from encounters in the moments after. As the holiday season gets into swing today, I challenge you to curb that reactionary habit. When we build our relationships and conversations around the most important parts of each other's lives, such as these passions that we occasionally can't control how they affect us, the benefit and feeling received by both parties is memorable and meaningful. You might see somebody like myself take his team's loss with an unhealthy amount of anger and sadness. But after talking to him, you learn some of his earliest and favorite memories took place in the local arena where they play with a family member that's no longer around. You might witness somebody crying during the middle of a song. But after talking to her, you discover those three and a half minutes on repeat got her through a battle she thought she was never going to win. You might hear a group of people singing carols with too much enthusiasm and noise in the mall. But after talking to them, you connect with the fact the friends met in college and have been reuniting annually ever since they all graduated. Give thanks for all of these stories you know about your closest friends and family, but don't be afraid to understand more about the neighbors and strangers around you.
Now, as some time has passed after the events of November 21, 2015, I realize that I will always recall this November day when I look back at my college years down the line with an exact system of prioritization. The shameful performance by the Gamecocks to a lesser, instate opponent won't be forgotten, yet the countless other experiences on Carolina Gamedays a bit further down on memory lane will overwhelm the effect of one embarrassing loss. I'll be able to visualize the Michigan State kicker's walk-off celebration in the Horseshoe, but I'll remind myself of the voices of Buckeye fans in AT&T Stadium chanting "ZEKE" to cap off a national title ten months earlier to cope. What will stand out most is a perfect recollection of my few minutes with Mr. Tebow. That conversation meant so much to me that I could never accurately capture it with a few sentence or paragraphs on the screen you are reading this on. I truly hope everyone reading this can enjoy a physical representation of one of your life's most driving influences, like this conversation was for me. And I long for the day where we can support and appreciate each other's passions no matter how foreign or intense they might appear at first glance.
J. Nave
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