Michigan Football: Fandom Matters

There are few times in my life when I have felt more viscerally helpless and confused than I did when the final play’s snap of the Michigan-Michigan State game sailed through Blake O’Neill’s hands and wound up in the endzone.

And I’ve had cancer, for the record.

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Of course, it took a couple of hours for that to wear off and for the familiar sinking feeling of an avoidable loss to set in. That feeling is one many Michigan football fans know well these days after eight years in the wilderness. I can deal with that feeling; I don’t want to, but I can.

Games like Saturday’s are a reminder that no matter how loud you cheer, no matter how far you travel to see the game, no matter how much team gear you’ve accrued, being a fan still means you have no control over what’s happening on the field, even though you’ve invested so much emotional energy into it.

When fluky, terrible things happen, all you can do is avert your eyes. If sports fandom reminded you of that fact—that you are an agent with no autonomy, screaming support for a collection people that is fluid and that you will probably never meet anyways, and by in large only remember during Aflac Trivia Questions years later—then only the most masochistic among us would be sports fans.

Instead, that feeling only crops up during the most painful, unexpected moments, like Saturday. The overwhelming majority of the time—even if you root for terrible teams—it’s something completely different.

There will always be Uncle Ricos, but most of us give up on the idea of significantly altering a team’s future past high school or youth league. Sports take on a different meaning after that moment. It’s no longer an individual dream, or a path to fame or wealth, but a community.

My Michigan community was formed very early. I’m a third generation Wolverine that could just about understand what was happening during the 1997 national championship run, could definitely understand what was happening in the 2006 Ohio State game, and would like to forget understanding what happened during the 2007 Appalachian State game (as much as anyone could, that is).

I went to my first Rose Bowl when I was 3, was lucky enough to attend the University of Michigan fifteen years later, and was vaguely unlucky to have witnessed the Brady Hoke ship sink firsthand.

I’ve been through the good and bad of Michigan football, and I’ve never felt the way I did on Saturday.

Sports are about playing at a high level for the shockingly few. For everyone else, it’s about finding a group of like-minded lunatics with whom you can share elation and devastation. It’s about letting go for four hours on a Saturday in the fall, whether you want to admit it or not. We get to sit back and watch something unfold—for better or worse—without guilt, disappointment, or individual pride that we are still somehow hugely invested in. Think about other major industries—or anything you care about, for that matter—that can promise anything resembling that.

Oct 17, 2015; Ann Arbor, MI, USA; Michigan Wolverines safety Dymonte Thomas (25) breaks up pass intended for Michigan State Spartans wide receiver Macgarrett Kings Jr. (85) during the 2nd half of a game at Michigan Stadium. Mandatory Credit: Mike Carter-USA TODAY Sports

People have talked about the joy of participating in something bigger than yourself for centuries because it’s always been true. Never has that been, at least in my mind, so readily available, so concrete, as sports fandom.

Once you’re in, you’re in. That moment may take a while, but it almost always comes. I was lucky enough to come of age watching Braylon Edwards, Mike Hart, Lamarr Woodley, etc., so it didn’t take long for me to know what it was about. Up until then, it was a familial engagement that I enjoyed.

As soon as I saw that ball go through O’Neill’s hands, I knew that hundreds of thousands of other Michigan faithful felt the same way I did. You never have to go it alone.

I knew that I could call friends or family and they would all be screaming profanities and tearing out their hair, but I knew that we’d all still be here after the fact.

I’ve seen a lot of “maintain perspective, it’s just sports” pieces this week, but I’d say something different. Having perspective on that game doesn’t mean you stop caring about it on Sunday or Monday and start looking ahead to Minnesota. That’s the team’s job, unfortunately enough for them. We should all have enough perspective to sit back and say if I’m depressed this week, it doesn’t hurt anyone, and that’s the beauty of fandom.

Disease calls for perspective, major accidents call for perspective, loss of life calls for perspective. Perspective can save your life in those circumstances. Trust me, I know. You always have to move forward in those circumstances. You know what will never call for that same kind of perspective?

Sports.

Assuming you’re not a raving animal who sends death threats to college kids on Twitter. That’s not a matter of perspective so much as it is a matter of not being, well, a terrible person.

As much as it hurts to recognize, fans have nothing tangible to lose. We aren’t the ones at risk to tear an ACL or worse. We’re the ones who have fanatically devoted ourselves to a community that we chose to be a part of, that we contribute money, time, and—most of all—emotion to every week.

If you can get so worked up you’re brought to tears by a painful loss or a joyful win, then more power to you, because that’s what being a fan is about. If a loss or a win affects you all week until the next game? Again, more power to you. There are few things in life that allow you to invest so much and ask so little in return.

That’s a beautiful thing.

Next: Brady Hoke: I wouldn't have punted

In the end, we’re all still here, and we’ll all be watching the Minnesota game next week. Until then, don’t let anyone tell you that it’s just sports.

Go Blue!

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