The Psychology of Phandom
In today’s Guardian UK, writer Steven Wells (a PW contributor) makes an excellent case for why winning the World Series might actually work against Philadelphia’s long-cherished sense of self. As a psychological study in identity politics, it’s actually quite keen. The only part I disagree with is this:
I haven’t met a single Philadelphian who advises caution, who’s hedging their bets, who harbours even the thinnest sliver of a smidgeon of a scintilla of doubt that this year a quarter-decade of cross-sports humiliation and hurt ends in a blaze of cathartic glory. … Philadelphia is positively swaggering with confidence. Same as the last seven times. But what the heck.
I guess Steven and I have gone too long without talking. My entire being these days is suffused with doubt of the most painful kind. Unlike these yahoos Steven’s referring to, I’m almost certain we won’t win. Because, to paraphrase Barack Obama, Philly sports teams have a way of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
What’s curious about this conversation is that I’m so invested in it. I’m not a sports fan, though I think basketball is awesome and beautiful and the Sixers championship was one of the highlights of my young life. I’d also like to make out with Allen Iverson, maybe go to second base.
Anyway.
But I am overly obsessed with the fortunes and foibles of my hometown, and at this point in a sports championship, I begin to get really, really anxious. Because look:
Down 3-1, Rays thinking comeback
liz | 11:39 AM | Uncategorized
What the hell is that thing with the ears in the click the cutest image photo?
I find myself afraid to allow myself to get involved with sports.
If I care too much, will I be catapulted into depression if my favored team loses?
What if they win? Will I feel compelled to stay up all night in celebration and revelry? Will I become recklessly elated? What if I decide I want to drink too much, will I skip my meds so that I don’t experience harmful interactions?
But of course, that’s how I am with nearly everything these days. I’m afraid to get to know any good looking single guys – because what if I actually like them? What if I fall in love? What if I get dumped?
After 35 years, I’ve finally achieved a very delicate stability. But God, how I long for the good stuff in life! Is it my fate to have to emotionally tiptoe around the things everyone else gets to dive right into? I feel so incredibly pulled towards feeling things deeply, breathing in all the thick emotional air I can, letting it fill me completely, holding my breath, then exhaling it all back into the world.
It seems like whenever I invest my emotions in anything, I end up spiraling out of control one way or another.
Then again, if I deny myself the indulgence in things that excite me, I feel starved; my life lacks depth and meaning.
The process of learning how to manage this bipolar life can torture me even when I’m doing really well. Where’s the balance?
Does anyone know what I’m talking about???
super post. thnx
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