So there’s a friend of mine whose young son is approaching that age when the first pilgrimage to the ballpark is in order. This is a normally sound, reasonable person but, like many, there is an unsound, unreasonable aspect to his personality because he is, alas, a sports fan. Specifically, a Mets fan.
Which means he loves the Mets.
Which means he loathes the Mets.
Which means, his words, “I want to bring the kid to Citi Field, but what do I do when child-protective services hunts me down, whisks him away, and asks me, voices full of scorn, ‘How could you?’ ”
But there’s also this: The other day, that same child asked my friend who won the game between the Mets and the Yankees. The Yankees, he was told.
“Yay, Yankees!” the kid said.
And my friend’s blood ran cold. He will soon buy tickets to Citi Field.
That summarizes, as good as anything, the most destructive part of being a fan, a real fan, a blood-and-guts, living-and-dying, can’t-sleep-for-days-after-a-grisly-loss fan: There isn’t a switch available to turn that off. Your team will hurt you, haunt you, disappoint you, crush you, infuriate you, humiliate you …
And you come back for more.
Always, you come back for more.
A reader with the Twitter handle @JohnnyJet — so, right away, you know how much fan blood he’s spilled in his lifetime — also happens to, as many Jets fans do, root for the Mets. And he sent this message to me: “If I could turn off my allegiance like a light I would. It’s just a shame I can’t.”
This, of course, is what sports franchises bank on. It’s why the attention whores who occasionally auction off their sporting loyalties — or hawk them on the Internet like they’re rare copies of the “Yesterday and Today” album — rarely achieve even the full 15 minutes of fame: because being a fan means surviving, enduring, even self-loathing.
Yankees fans always get the third-degree from the outside, because it’s supposed to be so easy rooting for them. And that is why so many Yankees fans take great delight in rattling off the career statistics of Horace Clarke and Celerino Sanchez — if they date to one era — or reciting the Opening Day lineup of Stump Merrill’s ’91 Yankees (where have you gone, Mike Blowers?) if they lived through another, almost as much as celebrating the ’98 team.
Because they saw the abyss. And lived to tell about it.
Of course, when you are in the abyss, it’s a different story, and that’s where the Mets have been for five years; where the Knicks have been, with rare exception, for 15 years; where the Islanders have been, fairly regularly, since the last time Denis Potvin lifted the Cup over his head in 1983.
And there are plenty of people who still wear the team colors, don team caps, watch every game, who wonder: Why do I do this? Why do I bother? Why do I love something that I hate so much — and hate something that I love so much?
Why. Can’t. I. Turn. Off. The. Damned. Switch.
And here’s the thing: They come close sometimes. They take incremental steps. They stop buying tickets. Stop watching every period, every quarter, every inning, stop ceaselessly checking their smartphone for updates. But here’s something else: It doesn’t take a lot to lure them back, either: a no-hitter. A hotshot prospect. A playoff chase. A new owner (hey, everyone can dream).
Do they ever make the final leap, and switch allegiances? Some do. There is an entire team, the Nets, hoping the Knicks finally drive away enough fans from their home borough — an invulnerable Knicks stronghold since 1946 — to build their own native fan base. Some have. Some will.
Most? Most of them will stay where they are. The bad times are brutal. But they do make the good times even sweeter. And keep the finger off the switch. Most of the time.
Whack Back at Vac
Bill Green: Was it just me who saw two NBA playoff games (Nets-Heat, Clippers-Thunder) this week where the referees used make-up calls to give the ball back to the wrong team, in crunch time, because in both replays obvious fouls were missed and not called against the team who clearly shouldn’t be receiving the ball?
Vac: I am generally a fan of replay. But the way the NBA does it really makes me want to find a way to jam up every arena’s replay system.
Craig Bonder: Mark Jackson could benefit from Phil’s knowledge. [Mark] is clearly a terrific leader and game-day motivator, so combine that with some of Phil’s principles and it would be a tremendous success. Hopefully they aren’t too stubborn to realize this.
Vac: Put it this way: Once Knicks fans were revived after seeing that Phil met with Mike Dunleavy, I’m pretty sure anything else will seem A-OK.
@ring_man: The Mets should give out paper bags for heads on Fan Appreciation Day. I’d love to see Sandy wearing one. BRING BACK OMAR!
@MikeVacc: Have three words ever better summarized a fan’s frustration?
Rob Feinblatt: Ask Steve Kerr or the Knicks if he passed because he was concerned Carmelo Anthony won’t re-sign. I think he knows something.
Vac: And judging by Melo’s past reputation with coaches … it might be he knows he’s coming back …
Vac’s Whacks
♦ You mean to tell me the general manager of the Mets can’t find a way to get in to see “The Lion King” — which has been running on Broadway for seventeen years! — by simply making a phone call? Has it really gotten that bad?
♦ If you haven’t seen it yet, you must use the various PBS apps and on-demands and such to see the “American Masters” program on the great George Plimpton.
♦ So Kyle Farnsworth is bitter? He should watch Kyle Farnsworth pitch.
♦ No matter your rooting interest, Jose Fernandez on an operating table is terrible news. Another busted-down arm is brutal for baseball.