Why I Stopped Watching Football (and Started Watching Football)

Justin Glover
Aug 24, 2017 · 7 min read
Image source: Creative Commons

Once again, as nearly a hundred times before, the NFL season is upon us. But for the first time in my conscious life, I actually don’t care all that much.

It’s weird: nearly every year before this one, I eagerly anticipated the return of America’s true pastime (take that, baseball!) as though it were the most important thing in my life. Mostly because for a while, it was. I’d endlessly theorize about how well my team would do in the upcoming season, to the point of driving my friends and family insane about it, before breaking down into a pint-sized lump of apathy when we’d inevitably go 7–9 and miss the playoffs yet again. Once or twice we made a deep push into the postseason — we’ve even made the Super Bowl a couple of times — but as in most other aspects of my life, I was always denied true gratification, even as the legions of hellspawn known as the New England Patriots would win year in and year out.

Still, though, there was something about the experience of watching football every Sunday that caused me to fall in love with the game. I eventually became something of a statistical savant, capable of rattling off random factoids out of nowhere. I was once even able to name the winners of the first ten Super Bowls in a row — nowadays I only remember the first five off the top of my head, and even then I’ve been known to get a couple of them mixed up. I sometimes wonder how I did it all — and more importantly, what I could have made of myself if I’d applied half of that brain power to literally anything else in my life.

So why now am I experiencing reservations? Why am I suddenly no longer drawn in by the thrill of victory or the agony of season-ending ACL tears? How has the NFL gone from being such a central part of my life — perhaps even my identity — to being something I regard with disdain at best and contempt at worst?

Maybe it’s just the fact that I’ve grown out of it. Kids get into things like Barbie or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or My Little Pony or what have you all the time, only to eventually discard it at some point as they begin to define their own personality. It’s hardly unusual for people my age to find that they no longer enjoy things that used to shape their lives.

Or maybe it’s just that I’ve been exposed to a greater range of viewpints since college, to the point that I’m moving away from what I perceive as “normal.” I mean, after all, I’ve been indoctrinated by the liberal elites that run most four-year state universities; of course I’ve completely turned my back on the quintessential American experience. (Next thing I know, I’ll be draping myself in the Soviet flag and claiming Stalin actually wasn’t that bad a guy.)

I think the real problem here, though, is that I’ve become pretty thoroughly disillusioned by the NFL’s blatant greed and incompetence. (Oh boy, I can hear you thinking to yourself. I certainly haven’t heard THAT one before.)

The fact is, what little life the game had left has been snuffed out in favor of cynical cash grab after cynical cash grab. Would you want to support a team that had a small but loyal contingent of local fans, who lived and died with their team even when the on-field product was utter garbage, only to then say to those fans, “give us billions of dollars for an eyesore stadium to replace our still-functional venue, or we’re moving the team out of town”? Would you be on the side of an owner who can flip the switch between “loyal friend to the city who loves its people and its culture” and “completely and utterly dumping all over its citizens when something doesn’t go his way”? Could you justify taking a team from a small market who regularly watches its local team (or they would, if it weren’t for the league’s appalling blackout regulations), and then putting that team — with no notable upgrades to the on-field talent — into a far, far larger market, in which the would-be fans have literally dozens of better things to do than watch a three-win football team stumble all over the field week in and week out?

Stan Kroenke, owner of the Rams and all-around terrible human being. (Image source: Los Angeles Times)

Well, it doesn’t matter what you answered to any of those questions, because Stan Kroenke already did it to the Rams, shuttling them off to the football wasteland that is Los Angeles. And as if that wasn’t enough, Dean Spanos of the Chargers did the exact same thing a year later. And as if that wasn’t enough, there’s an absurdly high chance we’re going to see it a third time in short order, when Mark Davis packs up the Raiders and rushes them out to Las Vegas — which, considering how the Raiders’ seasons tend to go, is weirdly fitting; at least now they’ll be in a city that understands the feeling of failure and futility.

Even as owners continue to increase their own financial security, it seems as though only token measures are being taken to help players. NFL players are the worst-paid out of the four major American sports leagues. Given that the average NFL contract pays out roughly $2 million each year, that’s probably not saying a lot — even a practice-squad tight end can easily make six figures. But along with that comes a shocking lack of regard for their well-being. The NFL’s owners commonly attempt to clamp down on what they see as “unacceptable” behavior — “excessive celebration” being one of the more recent bits of high-profile overreach — while at the same time seemingly doing little for players who actively need help.

In particular, the revelation a couple years ago that the league has previously attempted to cover up findings in concussion studies, along with its grievous mishandling of concussion protocols in past years, is especially worrying to me. It’s gotten to the point that whenever I see a player take a hard hit, I can only think about how much damage the sport is doing to his body, and how much he’ll end up paying for his time in the league later in life. When your favorite sport only brings up feelings of worry instead of excitement, it’s time to ask whether it’s still worth watching.

I can no longer see my way clear to enjoying the NFL, at least with the passion I once did. The illusion of integrity and enjoyability that the league had when I was a child is now gone, replaced by the vision of a boardroom of old, crusty white people caring more about the bottom line than about the people their industry affects. The National Football League as I knew it is dead — assuming it was ever alive to begin with, that is.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t be watching football this August. In fact, I’ve been watching every week.

The catch? I’m not talking about American football.

Maybe it’s the liberal elitism in me, but over the last year or two I’ve begun to have an appreciation for the other “football” — the kind they play in literally every other country. I used to like playing soccer as a kid, of course, same as anybody. But in my newly-minted adulthood, I’m now falling in love with “the beautiful game” once again.

Image source: Newsweek

I can’t really put my finger on why I suddenly like soccer so much. Maybe it’s the tactics and finesse that goes into such a game. Maybe it’s wishful thinking that the U.S. will transform overnight into a European-esque nation, complete with more refined taste in culture and sports. Or maybe it’s just some form of subconscious anti-American sentiment. Whatever the reason, I suddenly get why so many people around the world enjoy soccer. I’m completely hooked.

I’ve picked out a favorite team (Tottenham Hotspur, for those interested), I’ve scoured the transfer wire for hours at a time, I’ve watched entire games without moving from my seat. I even bought a scarf. It’s late summer in middle Tennessee, and the temperatures regularly rise into the high 80s. But I don’t care. From here on in, I’m a card-carrying member of the “Yid Army.”

(For those crying “bandwagon” or “fairweather,” I actually started supporting Spurs a couple seasons ago. Not that that dispels any of it, but I take pains to avoid frontrunner status; I rooted for the Carolina Panthers for several seasons B.C. — Before Cam — so I feel like I’m owed at least this. The Jake Delhomme years were a rollercoaster ride, let me tell you.)

Maybe it’s just natural for me to want to redefine myself. I’m moving into a new phase of my life. one where I no longer care formany of the things I once held dear. American football, like many things that once defined me, no longer holds any charms for me. I’ve given it up, just like so many other things. I’ll still pay attention to the scores, and to the players and teams that interest me, but it won’t be as a fan anymore. Instead, I’ll simply be an interested outsider, regarding this whole thing with wistful looks and the occasional nostalgic sigh, before getting bored and checking to see how the North London Derby is going.

Of course, if the Panthers win the Super Bowl this year, feel free to ignore all of this. I’ll be too busy cheering to care.

)

Justin Glover

Written by

Just some guy with a lot to say. Seinfeldian rants mixed with well-intentioned social commentary, with a garnish of immature humor to taste.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade