I am a fair-weather fan. Once the clouds roll in, I’m gone, off to the less-disappointing pastures of unaffiliated fandom.
Having grown up in the Chicago area, this comes as second nature. You see, Chicago sports fans as a whole are not known for their optimism or, for that matter, loyalty. Case in point: Today, the once-vaunted Chicago Bulls regularly leave 5,000 United Center seats empty at home games. In the summer, it’s more like 20,000 empty seats at Comiskey Park. Haven’t done much for us lately? We don’t care.
This is with the exception of Cubs fans, whose oft-repeated mantra, “There’s always next year,” grates upon me to no end. As a White Sox fan, I resent this optimism. The Cubs haven’t won a World Series since 1908. They haven’t even been to one since 1945, yet their numbskull fans keep pouring into Wrigley Field, for apparently little reason except to guzzle Old Style beer and ogle the ivy. Cubs fans are un-American. Like capitalism dictates?you don’t pour money into a failing business, so why pour your heart and soul into a bunch of losers?
As far as I’m concerned, the fair-weather fan is the best type of fan?the only type of fan. Supporting a team regardless of their performance is the easy way out. If you’re a Cubs or a Boston Red Sox fan, it assumes a certain novelty: “We haven’t won a World Series in ages, but it’s okay ‘cause we have old ballparks with character.” These fans should be ashamed of themselves.
A real fan is all about tough love?if you really care about a team, you admit when the bums are bums and you turn your back. Then you can focus your attention on more productive activities?like rooting against the goddamn Cowboys.
Chicago is a city of big shoulders, sure. It’s also a city of big expectations. But if you come through and win, you will be loved and loved dearly. Witness as the legend of the ‘85 Bears grows by the day. Witness Michael Jordan, the prodigal son, receiving a standing ovation before beating his old team Saturday.
That said, this past weekend was a bitter one. The Chicago Bears lost their first playoff game in seven years to the Philadelphia Eagles, 33-19. I was saddened by the outcome of this game, and this surprised me, since as a fair-weather fan, I expect defeat. Actually, I relish defeat. That’s what separates relaists like me from the suckers, the die-hards. So what gives?
For the past 10 years, I never really had to confront the issues fair-weather fandom presents. The Bears in the ‘90s? Think of the life-negating pathos of Dave Wannstedt and the string of laughable draft picks?Alonzo Spellman, Rashaan Salaam, Curtis Enis, Cade McNown?this list goes on. Fair-weather fandom was looking like a good choice. Christ, these past couple years, the Cowboys stunk, so I had that going for me too. Life was good.
Then the unexpected happened. This season, the Bears got good. The “parity” that every other NFL market had relished so well finally reached the Windy City. It was sudden, too. I had written them off by mid-September after three preseason losses and an opening day loss to the Ravens. I was preparing for a great season of reveling in Dallas’ misery.
Six consecutive wins later, I was a true believer.
I got mad at Fox Sports for daring to show Redskins games instead of Bears games here in the District. I asked for a Bears sweatshirt for Christmas. “Go Bears!” away messages on Sunday afternoons soon followed. I convinced myself Jim Miller, not McNabb or Vick or Culpepper, was the real quarterback of the future. I worshipped Brian Urlacher as a god; I believed the hype.
Then they lost?to the Philadelphia Eagles of all teams. An ordinary bunch of thugs (Yes, I’m talking to you, Hugh “Hitman” Douglas). A pathetic team from a pathetic city.
And I’m still sad today, nearly a week later. I’m sad for the city of Chicago. I’m sad for the team. I’m just sad.
But now, in this time of sadness, I’m not turning my back.
I don’t know why. Maybe I’m a lousy fan, a lousy American even. Maybe I’ve turned into everything I’ve ever hated. Maybe I just don’t know any better after all. I just can’t bring myself to turn my back on the bums. I can’t explain it. I have this tingle of anticipation, this aw-shucks confidence, this faith in my team.
So bear down, Chicago Bears?there’s always next year.
