In Defense of ‘We’

“Why would they do that!?”, I groaned between sobs into my pillow.

“Why would they even get that far if they were just going to lose?”

The 1999 Wisconsin Badgers basketball team had just lost to Michigan State in the Final Four and my mom was trying to comfort my hysterical fourth grade self. The team was demoted to “they” in my temper tantrum, but I was going through my second of many heartbreaks at the hands of “we”.

The first came when the Green Bay Packers lost to the Denver Broncos the year before. I remember sitting on the couch, surrounded by my parents’ friends, confident that we (Me, the Packers, and everyone in Wisconsin) would overcome this small 7 point deficit. But as the clock ticked down the adults got more and more quiet. A few swear words were muttered by the men next to me and then I knew our team was going to lose. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I went home knowing we were all losers, and that John Elway was the most evil man in the world.

Like Jason Chen (@diskopo), I realize how ridiculous it sounds when I say “we” when I talk about the sports teams I follow. It’s silly. But it’s a habit that I’m not going to make an effort to break because I think it’s more justified than rationality would have us believe.

Months after my Final four meltdown I won the World Cup. That is, me and the American Women’s soccer team won the World Cup. After a tight, hard fought game, we won in a thrilling shootout with China. Brandi Chastain ripped off her jersey and I jumped down half the stairs, ran down the hallway, jumped on the couch, and made a general ass of myself. It was the first time I’d ever watched women’s soccer, and damn if I didn’t have the time of my life winning that game.

That’s one of my favorite sports memories, along with watching Desmond Howard return a kickoff in the 1997 Superbowl (and subsequently refusing to leave my “lucky seat” for the sake of the team). I think the only reason those memories are so wonderful, those highs so high, is because I let myself be “we”. When you throw yourself into the we, you’re committing to ride an emotional roller coaster. You’re leaving yourself vulnerable to all of the irrational anger and shame and sadness of defeat. You’re gambling with your emotions, and the rewards can be absolutely amazing, even if they’re not based on the practical.

But practical reasons can be found for “we”, too. I follow the teams I’m a fan of very closely. I buy merchandise, I read off-season rumors, I create off-season rumors. I’ve been a fan of the teams longer than all of the players on the teams have been on the rosters. I’ve been a fan longer than most of the general managers have been managing. As fans, we own the teams more than we give ourselves credit for. Our memories of the heartbreaks and the triumphs are ours for all time, and our collective memories make our teams’ legacies.

I’m a little older, now. I’ve leveled out a bit. Old enough to not cry myself to sleep after a tough loss, but not old enough to stop myself from throwing a remote or pacing around the house complaining about play-calls and time management. Not old enough to not throw my arms up in the air like I just finished the Boston Marathon when we get a critical 3rd down conversion.

When the Miami Dolphins (the team I’ve forsaken my Wisconsin heritage to cheer for) finally win a Superbowl, I’ll be ecstatic. I’ll proudly say we won the Superbowl. Because when I say “we”, I’ll be talking about the team, myself, and every other Dolphin’s fan who punched their ticket for the “we” ride. I’ll be talking about the fans, like myself, who witnessed the miracle of Greg Camarillo saving the 2007 Dolphins from a win-less season and all of the fans who watched Ricky Williams leave the team, come back, then leave again. We will finally have the reward for years of disappointment, and it’s going to feel like we earned every bit of it.