That’s Show Business
As my dad says, “college football… it’s all show business.” When he first told me that I paused and thought through it. He’s right. There is costume, an audience, tickets, press releases,an abundance of critics, and don’t forget the popcorn and ice cold Coca-Cola — and most of it is on TV! The crowd comes expectant. They want a great show. However, at the end only half are happy with the end product and half are not. Some walk out with really mixed reviews, “I liked it but I would have like to see more ____” Sometimes we watch and are angry, yet we keep coming back to see if the show will improve, be different, just show a glimpse of what we loved when we started watching way back when. It’s show business.
No matter how much we want to see our ‘show’ succeed, sometimes it takes a new turn, has different writers who have different styles, and sometimes it isn’t well received. We wonder if the new writers understand how important a plot line we love is. We act like the writer is intentionally tanking the ‘show’ and question if they love it as much as we do. Let me reassure you right here: coaches care more about success of the ‘show’ than any fan in the world does.
So the abstract concept of football is treated as such, with lack of compassion and becomes the thing upon which we release our frustrations with wild abandon. No thought beyond the institution of the show. No thought that targets the heart of the organism we not only enjoy as entertainment but also consider personal assistants to our momentary happiness.
We consider the people involved in managing our precious ‘show’ as less than people. We justify angry, and sometimes foul, comments and attacks on them, their children, and their wives with the comment, “hey, if I sucked at my job I’d be fired too.” We cling to the fallacy that the standard we hold them to is equivalent to a real world environment, yet it’s not. It’s different. It’s show business.
If you had a bad day at work, maybe failed to mail something on time that was significant, made a costly mistake, or said the wrong thing to the wrong person you probably wouldn’t have thousands — or even millions — calling for your job on social media, screaming at you as you walked out of the office that day, tweeting your wife to get the ‘for sale by owner’ sign up, or harassing your kids at school. If you actually were fired for your mistake your wouldn’t have people you’ve never met rejoicing and dancing over the death of your career. You would have the community of people in your life rising up to support you, praying for you, worried for you. You probably would be able to walk into a new job interview without anything specific about that rough patch at work coming up on google.
We have a saying in football, “the carousel has started up again.” This is the carousel of jobs that spins year after year. Each time a coach is fired we hear it muttered across social groups and among coaching staffs. This year It’s already started with mid season firings and fans gnashing their teeth until they get what they want.
Usually I have a sense of distance from news about firings or rumors of who is on a hot seat. Of course, winning is the benchmark and sometimes a change has to happen because the results aren’t there. However, I’m struggling with how personal the attacks can be. I’ve watched friends/fans on social media of several struggling programs this year and it seems more personal for some reason. We don’t coach at any of those schools and we don’t live in those towns but I’m personally shaken up after seeing comments, watching elation erupt over firings, and hearing the boiling anger spew forth from the many arm chair commentators using a screen and a keyboard as a shield.
I’ve never been so overwhelmed or felt such a personal connection to the hurt like I am today. Wives desperate to lift spirits of husbands who are coming home winless. Families stunned by cutting insults and deeply personal remarks that don’t even relate to the ‘show’. As I read and hear stories an empathy is building. I’m sensitive to their pain, to the point it’s become raw. I’ve struggled to find words in direct response — I know hard to believe — but I have.
I’ve always seen myself as a fixer. If something is going wrong I want to help find a solution — sometimes imposing so I can help. As I watch these families in dark places I am at a loss and it hurts me because I can’t help them find an answer. So, I want to say this to the families that help make the ‘show’ go on: I’m hurting for you. I’ve hurt watching you. I’m trembling as I type. I admire your grace under the enormous pressure. I esteem your resolve as you go through the struggle. I am thankful you are vulnerable enough to share your pain and confusion and even frustration — because I know you will be there for me when the time comes.
We know what to expect as the years roll on. We sign up year after year to take the risk of our audience loving us or hating us. We do it to influence young men in all the spaces of their lives. We are real people with real impact to make and no matter what the audience says we must stay the course. The show must go on.
That’s show business.
