Cats and Dogs

It’s March, and the season for madness, if you’re a college basketball fan, and for unbounded optimism if you’re a baseball fan.  I have lived in Connecticut for over 30 years, but for some reason, I still identify with the hometown teams from the area where I grew up, the D.C.-Maryland region.  Even though I’ve spent twice as many years up here in the land of the Giants or Patriots, Yankees or Red Sox, I can’t bring myself to switch allegiances. It would have been so easy (and probably good for my overall outlook on life) if I’d shed my loyalty to such dysfunctional teams as the Washington Redskins and the Baltimore Orioles.  If I’d decided to become a Yankees fan I could celebrate October glory with regularity. I might even see the world in rosier colors. If I’d jumped on the Patriots bandwagon at the turn of the century, I’d have celebrated with Brady and Belichick every other February.

Instead, I stick with those teams that I rooted for way back in the seventies.  Maybe it’s a loyalty thing, like sticking with an old friend, but honestly I could probably put more effort into staying in touch with old friends.

Maybe it’s because those teams remind me of simpler times. They connect me to my youth.   Every time I root for the Orioles or Redskins, does it make me feel a little like that kid who used to wake up early on Monday mornings just so he could read every word of every article in the Washington Post about the previous day’s football game?  Maybe.

The truth is, there’s a contest going on inside me, a contest between my rational brain and my romantic brain.  My rational brain gives me a lot of reasons why I should curb my sports addiction.  It says I should stop paying attention to professional football. I have big problems with the way the NFL responded to their concussion problems and the clear long-term health problems that follow. The NFL reminds me too much of the old cigarette companies denying the research on smoking’s effects.  Why would I stick with an industry like that? Furthermore, the team I root for has a name that many consider demeaning and racist, yet their stubborn owner refuses to consider a more acceptable name (I could get behind the Washington Redhawks). I don’t wear their gear anymore. I try to refer to them as the Washington football team, but how lame is that as a protest?

My baseball team has the misfortune of playing in the same division as the Yankees and Red Sox.  Rooting for the Orioles might be tied more to my love of the underdog. I like the idea of a low-budget team contending with the mega-rich teams from New York and Boston.  It feels like rooting for David against Goliath. The problem is, with only a few rare moments as exceptions, David loses regularly.  His last championship was in 1983.

This winter, my football team faded.  This spring, my baseball team shows few signs of crawling out of the cellar.  I’d turn to college basketball, but they’re seeming far from wholesome these days, too.  As many as 30 programs are under investigation by the FBI for illegal recruiting, bribery, and other scandalous behavior.  The NCAA makes so much money, but it cannot seem to police itself.

I love the excitement of watching and rooting, but where can I take that desire for competition?   

My daughter is a senior at tiny Davidson College in North Carolina.  They have fewer than 2000 students, and they’re known for their academics more than for their sports teams, but they’re the school that brought us Steph Curry, and they’re scrappy.  I like that word.  Here’s what else I like about them. They don’t commit recruiting violations.  Their athletes take real classes and almost always graduate (though Steph still needs three more credits). Their highly successful coach has remained there for 30 years because he just likes the school and the small town of Davidson. They play an unselfish game with very little flash or showmanship.  Their nickname (Wildcats) offends no one. 

This weekend, they’re trying to claw their way into the big tournament. It’s a long shot. They’ll have to win their conference tournament, but hey, they’ve got “David” in their name. On both sides of my brain, they’re the best kind of underdog. Go Cats!

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