Don't skip out on this post too quickly...it's not really about football, it's about something bigger.
So on Sunday my beloved Packers lost an excruciating and crucial game. They had a 16 point lead. There just didn't seem near enough time for the Seahawks to come back. A series of critical errors would have to unfold for them lose. A trip to the Superbowl was within their reach... and yet they managed to snap defeat from the jaws of victory.
Why do close games that we lose hurt like they do?
On one hand it seems silly to even use words like "hurt" when talking about being a fan of a professional sports team. Isn't it just a game? A game played by strangers, who's only really affiliation and allegiance is one I willingly (and somewhat arbitrarily) give them by choosing to consider it of any importance in my life?
Isn't it just another form of entertainment?
Yes. It is. But...
I wonder if our emotions in response to watching games (just like theater or movies) pulls for something deeper? Doesn't it pull for something in the emotional dramas of our own lives?
Actually, I don't wonder, I'm pretty convinced this must be true because how else can we explain the compelling and consuming force that professional sports are in our culture (and have been throughout history so far as I understand it)?
The dramas, the stories, the intense feelings we (okay, some of us) experience when watching sports, are likely so captivating because they parallel a different set of dramas, stories, and feelings in our own lives.
We love the underdog sports story, because we've all been the underdog at some point and can empathize with how that feels. The victory of an underdog has a kind of therapeutic value for us because we delight in the idea that all of us who have been underdogs can overcome our struggles in life.
But what about the losses? What about the kind of loss that happened to the Packers yesterday, where everything was going so well, only to have a collapse at the very end and seemingly be unable to do anything to stop it?
For me it taps into a deep anxiety I have about the world.
It's the gnawing sense that when things are going your way, tragedy lies just around the corner.
It's about that deep sense of vulnerability that all of us experience, but many of us hide.
When life, or the tragedy of a sports team, puncture our illusions that we can construct for ourselves a world of self-sufficiency and safety, we are left to confront that terrible vulnerability we experience because the universe appears to be an enormous, chaotic, unfriendly place. And we appear to be insignificant suffering creatures who can do little to control anything, least of all our imminent death.
We are vulnerable, and it is terrifying. And it may seem like a giant leap to you that I've taken thirty lines of text to get from yesterday's sports scores to the quintessential dilemmas of existence. Maybe I am blowing things out of proportion. Maybe I go looking for any excuse to find parallels so I can talk about my own existential angst.
But the truth as I see it, is that any reminder of our human vulnerability is painful but also a tremendous gift. To embrace our vulnerability is to at least temporarily confront the illusions we live by. And while those illusions might help us live "normal" lives, we need to be aware of our own vulnerability and neediness, so that we can truly see it and respond to it in others.
No lead is safe in football. No lead is safe in life. We are vulnerable. Control is an illusion. But if are willing to engage our vulnerability rather than cover it up, perhaps we can live with clarity, compassion, and love.
P.S. After the game the Seahawks quarterback, Russell Wilson was reported to have said he was convinced that divine intervention had played a critical role in their victory. The Packers quarterback, Aaron Rodgers, later responded that he didn't think God cared at all what happens in football games, although he thinks God cares very much about the people who play in football games.
Nicely said Aaron.
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