Being An Atlanta Sports Fan: A Story of Heartbreaks And Undying Love
If you were to ask me what is it I love the most, my mind and heart would say my wife. My mind would say this because it’s the socially correct answer. My heart would say her because I CHOOSE to love her and to choose to do anything requires an increased effort that leaves you a deeper connection to your choice. After my wife, I would say my family and closest friends because my love for them is INHERITED and UNCONDITIONAL. And after them, I would say music, art, or beer. Yet, if I had to be honest, the thing I love the most is Atlanta sports. I know this for one simple reason: no matter how many times they may break my heart, I come back to them.
As children, we develop an idea of what to take pride in. As an infant, I had an early interest in reading and art. Naturally, this developed into being proud of my intelligence and creative abilities at a young age. Another thing I was proud of at a young age was being black. During trips to Central Library, the bookstore at Greenbriar Mall, and the bookstore at West End Mall, I would always ask for biographies on historical figures. Being a male child in America, these figures would often be athletes. The last thing I took pride in were my parents and grandmother.
I blame my love for Atlanta sports on the people I was proudest to call mine: my mother, father, and maternal grandmother. My parents had me at 16 so my youngest years had me living in a house with my parents, my mother’s siblings, and my grandmother. My father was a star high school basketball player. I often went with him to the park and watched him play pick up games. At home, my father watched sports extensively and the Atlanta sports teams was his favorite. He was the reason why I became a big fan of Mookie Blaylock (my favorite Hawks player of all time.) My mother was a fan of watching sports players rear ends lol. Michael Jordan was her favorite. Mookie vs Mike playoff battles in 1997 was very intense in our household lol. Other than that, she was a big lover of the Falcons. My grandmother, a former recreational softball player, kept her tv on the Braves. Even when she moved from this house in Ben Hill we all lived in to her own home in East Point her tv mainstays were Braves games and Oprah.
Saturday, October 28, 1995. Fairburn Road. I was a 3rd grader at Continental Colony Elementary and felt the energy of the city. That night in my grandmother’s room, I watched my family celebrate as Atlanta native Marquis Grissom made the most important catch of his life. On tv, I watched the crowd celebrate in the place that I attended my first professional sports game (Atlanta Fulton County Stadium…thanks grandma!) My Atlanta sports pride beamed inside.
Sunday, January 17, 1999. Westside Atlanta. I was a 6th grader at Paul D. West Middle School. We lived in the Lakewood Heights area but my mother started making me use my grandmother’s address in East Point to go to what she presumed was a better school. We were at my father’s oldest brother’s house (wassup Uncle GB) on the westside. I had brought this picture I drew of a falcon wearing Jamal Anderson’s jersey. My Aunt San hung it up proudly. Everyone was donned in Falcons’ paraphernalia but was also doubtful that we’d beat the 15–1 Vikings. I kept telling the adults we would win, as I did the “Dirty Birds” line dance we were taught at P.E. that week. Overtime, Morten Andersen made a field goal. My Atlanta sports pride beamed.
Those 2 days, as well as November 29, 1997 (when my 2nd cousin, Corey Allen, caught the game winning touchdown to help UGA beat Georgia Tech) are the proudest I ever been as a sports fan. Yet, living in a city where we only have one professional championship, we know that there aren’t many “proud” moments. Most of my years have been filled with the Braves losing the World Series, Hawks 2nd round knockouts, and the Falcons blowing leads in the second half. These constant heartbreaks are why we celebrate Falcons 5–0 starts or the Hawks making it to the Eastern Conference Finals (despite knowing that they are against a superior team) in the same way cities with strong sports histories celebrate championships. These heartbreaks are also why people believe that Atlanta doesn’t have a strong sports fan base.
When you are proud of something that continuously fail, the arguments against your loyalty hurts the most. Every sports team with an infamous fanbase have historically been successful. This alone has allowed fanbases to remain strong when their team has a subpar season. On the other side of this you have sports towns like Atlanta.
The biggest shot to what people see from our fanbase is we are a city of transplants. Since the 1996 Olympics, Atlanta has been amongst the top cities people relocate to. In this, if I move to a city that has Atlanta’s sports history and I am from a city with a rich sports history, I will be first in line to get tickets when my team is in town. This is why our games are filled with opposing teams’ fans: most of the city isn’t from here.
As an Atlanta native, I can tell you that all of native Atlantans are Atlanta sports fans; even the ones who claim not to be. Let me be honest. If Atlanta sports was dating a friend of mine, I’d tell my friend to leave them alone. You can’t trust them so protect your heart. That’s how Atlanta natives who claim to not be fans think. I can’t trust them so let me root for this successful team from a city I don’t even care to visit. Yet, they also claim that they’ll be fans of their hometown team if they do win. Trust issues. It’s similar to me and politics. I distrust the power of voting and the government so I have never voted. Yet, as a proud black man, I was still elated and celebrated when Barack Obama was voted president.
Sunday, February 5, 2017. Riverdale, Georgia. I had a moment. I prematurely thought my Atlanta sports pride would beam. I was in my parents’ home and everyone was celebrating. My grandmother was on the couch in a faded 1998 Dirty Birds shirt. My neighbors (whom I invited to come with me to watch the game at my parents’) and my wife were already making plans to beat traffic downtown to celebrate. I was quiet and reminiscing of my years as a fan. The score was 28–12, it was 5 minutes left in the game, and we were dominating. The years of heartbreaks are over, I thought. And then it happened. Another heartbreak.
I still haven’t been able to watch ESPN, Fox Sports Network, or any other sports channel since Super Bowl 51. A week later it still hurts. The Monday after the game, the entire city felt gloomy. That Tuesday, something happened though. I begin to shift my mind from the heartbreak to the promising future. Our squad is young. Then I found myself looking up the Hawks current standings to shift my attention fully to the remainder of the NBA season. This past week I looked up resells of Braves opening day tickets as well as Atlanta United paraphernalia. Yesterday, I told a friend that the Falcons will be back in the Super Bowl next year. I even said I’m excited. I am excited. I am excited not because of the promising future. I am excited because I love Atlanta sports more than anything and despite the heartbreaks, I am proud to be your fan.
