Read The Football Fan's Manifesto Online
Authors: Michael Tunison
The Football Fan's Manifesto (4 page)
Your favorite team will scar you. By that, I don’t mean minor emotional fissures you can bury beneath your everyday troubles. I mean deep-seated emotional scars that only manifest themselves in crying jags after premature ejaculation.
For every fond football memory, there will be countless
others that make you retire to the broom closet to weep and curse your creator for your unshakeable emotional dependence on your favorite team. It stands to reason that each year there can only be one Super Bowl champion, meaning the fans of the other thirty-one teams, no matter how positive a spin they try to put on the outcome of their season, are mired in disappointment and despair. That’s a lot of suffering. That’s even more Valium.
Most fans find a way to handle it, to push the pain down so deep into the recesses of their minds that it only reveals itself as message board vitriol and sublimated aggression toward busboys at chain restaurants. For those who can’t, it’s an eternity of reliving events that were never in your control in the first place. That guy sitting on the street corner mumbling about Jackie Smith can tell you all about it. It’s re-creating the offending memory in a video game and finding no satisfaction when you simulate a different outcome, knowing how hollow and false it is.
An epic, gut wrenching loss can lead to a lifelong complex that forces you to push aside your mommy issues and trace blame for all of life’s stumbles to that fateful day. The sad truth is that there is no way to avoid this. You chose to become a fan and will accept the emotional degradation that comes with it.
Take, for instance, these epic big game bed-shittings
that have wreaked havoc on the psyches of fans over the years.
Wide Right
—The list of Bills memorable postseason failures is long and illustrious, though none are more iconic than Scott Norwood’s missed field goal at the end of Super Bowl XXV. Buffalo, of course, went on to lose the next three Super Bowls, none of which were close, meaning this proved to be the Bills best chance at an elusive championship. Norwood played another season then retired to become a real estate agent, which is a lot less interesting than a transsexual murderer bent on revenge. Thanks for distorting our expectations of reality, Ace Ventura movies.
Laces Out
—January is the cruelest month for Tony Romo. And December ain’t much better. Yup, the Cowboys haven’t won a playoff game in thirteen years. In a 2006 playoff game, the Cowboys were attempting a gimme 19-yard field goal that would have won the game over the host Seahawks, but the star quarterback botched the snap and fell short of the goal line after he tried to run with the ball, thus handing the Seahawks a victory and touching off a dazzling series of late-season Cowboys collapses that have brought endless joy to the masses.
Red Right 88. The Drive. The Fumble.
—The postseason woes of the Cleveland Browns can be
summed up in three handy phrases, all under the rubric “Epic Fail.”
1992 Houston Oilers
—The Oilers led the eventual conference champion Bills 35–3 at one point in the third quarter of a wild-card playoff game, only to drop the game in OT. The franchise would return the heartbreak seven years later as the Tennessee Titans (the relocated Oilers), pulling off the Music City Miracle last-second kick return to beat the Bills in the wild-card round en route to an agonizingly tight Super Bowl loss of their own. Yes, there’s plenty of pain to go around.
Super Bowl III
—The Baltimore Colts were 18-point favorites against a Jets team from an AFL league nobody took seriously, featuring wildly sideburned quarterback Joe Namath, who was just beginning to cut a drunken swath of destruction on vaginas across the nation that continues to this day, though now more often with sideline reporters than Farrah Fawcett. The oddsmakers didn’t learn their lesson about the AFL, as the Vikings were 12-point favorites the following year and fell to the Chiefs in Super Bowl IV.
1990s Chiefs Teams
—The Chiefs had the second-most wins of any team in their conference during this decade, clinched home-field advantage twice, and failed to make the Super Bowl even once. Both times they held the top seed in the conference during the ’90s, they lost their first playoff game. Even Joe Montana and Marcus Allen couldn’t get
them over the hump, thus illustrating the otherworldly potency that is the Chiefs’ failure juju.
1998 Vikings
—It’s not that the Vikings were defeated by a vastly inferior opponent. The victorious Falcons, at 14-2, were only a game behind Minnesota in the standings. The choke comes when you factor in that Vikings kicker Gary Anderson had his only missed field goal of the season, which would have won the game in regulation. A shame, as this turned out to be Dennis Green’s best opportunity at getting his ass crowned.
2001 St. Louis Rams
—The Greatest Show on Turf came in as defending champs and 14-point favorites against a Patriots team coached by Bill Belichick that was somehow remotely likeable. Because this was the first Super Bowl after 9/11, people made a big deal about a team named the Patriots winning. Because people are mawkish and simpleminded.
18-1
—Undefeated juggernaut New England Patriots (or Greatriots, as their fans would tell you) beaten by Eli Manning. Or rather, the Giants dominant defensive line, but a Manning has to get credit for everything.
There are but a few ways to deflect this mental anguish before it claims dominion over you. Unless you have the option of buying the team and chucking all the offending players and coaches, it’s always going to be an indirect kind of relief. There’s the always reliable reassurance
that your team will be back next year. It’s the great loser standby, a mantra necessary to repeat to yourself when it becomes evident that your team has no real shot at a title, but you need to believe the next season holds the promise of great things to come, when in fact it’s a total crapshoot at best.
In truth, the only way for this pain to ever subside is for your team to win a championship. Once that happens, all the accumulated torment from years of coming up short is neatly washed away. Unfortunately, the acquisition of this title may take years, if it ever happens at all. Hell, nearly half the teams in the league have never won a Super Bowl.
Until that day arrives, any number of strong sedatives should keep you from nose-diving off the tallest building you can find. Matt Jones can recommend a few.
II.4 Choose a Player to Idolize Based on His Carefully Crafted Public Persona
Selecting a player to idolize isn’t anywhere near as significant as finding a team to worship, but it certainly makes things easier with the all-important jersey purchasing process. But worry not, fanboys. Once you do finally land on a team, there are many personality types from which to choose.
Obviously, the type of player who appeals to you is somewhat subjective. It doesn’t necessarily have to be your team’s best player. In fact, last year ESPN conducted a poll asking fans to pick the greatest player in the history
of each franchise, and Ravens fans chose Matt Stover. The fucking kicker! Fortunately, not everyone is as mentally deficient as Ravens fans, so there’s probably a good chance you won’t fall head over heels for a player who could get pushed around by the water boy.
The dynamics of a team dictate that there are a number of vital personality roles that must be filled. Do you like the big hitter who jars the ball loose from the defender and stands astride over his downed enemy? The defensive end who has trouble leaving his aggression on the field? The flashy receiver with the elaborate touchdown celebrations and the endorsement deal with BlackBerry. His e-mails indicate that he sent them to you from the end zone!
The Stoically Prickish Leader
—Possessing an odd combination of a stiff upper lip and a massive ego, he is the face of the franchise. As such, he makes a big deal of dutifully watching nearly as much game tape as Ron Jaworski and overriding the head coach’s decisions. When this pays off, he’s fawned over by the media endlessly. When it doesn’t, he’s often seen glowering on the sideline and throwing teammates under the bus to the press. If you love athletes that endorse all the products you buy, he’s the one for you. (See: Peyton Manning.)
The Media Darling
—From what your TV tells you about these guys, you’d think they pissed rainbows and shat unicorns. A negative word will never be ut
tered of the media darling by a studio analyst or play-by-play announcer. If this player does, in fact, commit a blunder, the broadcasters will fall over themselves to soft-peddle and explain away the mistake. You’ll adore the media darling if you’re one of those people who uncritically digests whatever the media tells them, which is pretty much the entire country. (See: Tom Brady, Brett Favre, Tony Romo.)
The Meast
—So named for the late Redskins safety Sean Taylor, who was described as a half man and half beast, the meast is an athletic whirlwind, the player who is simply far and away better than anyone else on the field. The only downside to the measts, if there is one, is that as people they aren’t terribly interesting. They never really get in trouble on or off the field, never issue any headline quotes. They just go out and dominate. That can be kind of boring sometimes. (See: Adrian Peterson, Brian Westbrook, Michael Turner, Larry Fitzgerald.)
The “Scrappy” Player
—A white guy who plays a position usually dominated by black players (receiver, running back, defensive back) with a modicum of success. Lauded for his “deceptive speed” and his supposedly indefatigable spirit, the scrappy player makes up with mainstream media support what he lacks in natural talent. Patriots fans wish their entire team was composed of these guys. If you’re a big fan of Elvis, the Rolling Stones, and rap-rock, you’ll love the
scrappy player. (See: Wes Welker, Kevin Curtis, Reed Doughty, Zach Thomas, John Lynch.)
The Quiet Religious Type
—Always eager to preach the lessons of humility and service to God over what occurs on the field, the quiet religious type can be a real buzzkill. But at least he usually keeps it to himself and chooses to lead the life he wants rather than haranguing others, though he will be quick to credit the Lawd for a key victory. It’s important to distinguish the quiet religious types from the overbearingly vocal religious ones, such as Ray Lewis, who use the language of faith to draw attention away from a rather homicide-heavy past. If you’re keen on Jesus, you’re keen on these guys. (See: Kurt Warner, Jon Kitna, Troy Polamalu.)
The Loudmouth Douchehard
—Part douche, part blowhard. If you ask me, the title is pretty self-explanatory. The loudmouth douchehard loves to talk shit, whether it’s to the media, his opponents, fans, homeless people, the infirm, heads of state, the elderly, or really any sentient being capable of being offended. Any objection to this behavior is interpreted as a sure-fire sign of disrespect, which only leads to even sharper increases in douchebaggery. (See: Philip Rivers, Joey Porter, Jeremy Shockey.)
The Snarling Intimidating Badass
—Unlike the loudmouth douchehard, the snarling intimidating badass doesn’t have to shoot his mouth off to scare the
people on the other side of the ball. A naturally terrifying dude, he oozes quiet intensity. And is probably coated in an enemy’s blood. You never really hear from him, probably because reporters are too intimidated to stick a tape recorder in his face. This guy is too tough for you to like him, so step the fuck off. (See: James Harrison, Mike Sellers, Albert Haynesworth.)
The Linemen
—Ah, the men in the trenches. They’re the most important players on your team that the fans have no clue about. They do the dirty work and yet you’d be hard pressed to find a single person in the stands who wears the jersey of even the best lineman in the league. However, the problem with having a lineman as your favorite player is that it makes you look like a pretentious cocksnot. See, the majority of fans know the linemen are important but it’s a tacit rule that they can’t be your favorite player. Just live with it. (See: That big fat guy, the one next to him, and the other three.)
The Dirty-Playing Dickhole
—This is the player fans of other teams will express the most contempt for, but it’s the guy on your team you tend to like the most. Because every great team needs a brutish enforcer, someone who’s willing to go above and beyond in order to inflict the maximum amount of pain on the opponent. Everybody loves a villain, especially if he’s on your side. (See: Rodney Harrison, Terrell Suggs, Hines Ward, the Broncos’ offensive line.)
The Emotionally Unstable Trainwreck
—The gridiron can exact a heavy toll on even the strongest of minds, so naturally it totally reams the weak ones. These athletes have a tough time handling the grind and have the occasional breakdown, suicide attempt, or abrupt name change. Should that appeal to a normal person? Probably not. But allegedly normal people don’t exist, so who cares about them? (See: Vince Young, Terrell Owens, Chad Ocho Cinco.)
The Inscrutable Wackjob
—A close cousin of the emotional trainwreck, only without all the messy depression. Their antics are at once bizarre and incredibly disarming. They might don a wacky costume, film a video of themselves belting out a pop hit in their bedroom, or talk about loving a mysterious substance called “construda” or going into “beast mode” on the field. They’re liable to do just about anything, and you’d pay to see any of it. (See: Marshawn Lynch, Laurence Maroney, Clinton Portis.)
The Tarvaris Jackson
—Every team has a conspicuous weak link, and this guy is it. An opponent’s game plan always hinges on exploiting this player, and it works without exception. Of course, all the fans of his own team hate his guts, but he can be quite the hit with backers of other squads. (See: DeAngelo Hall, the Steelers’ offensive line, the Broncos’ defense.)