Vendetta snuffed out

After the Hawks had the Super Bowl pried out of their hands last year, I swore I would never watch another NFL game. I was done, finished, over it.

It was a vendetta against the league. And, if you knew me at all, you would know vendettas pump my half-Sicilian blood. The NFL had lost a fan forever.

Then my job changed. And when the Godfather (in this case our sports editor) tells you to watch the Hawks or else, you watch the Hawks. You don’t want the else.

And when he tells you part of your job is to watch them like a fan, you watch them like a fan.

So there I was yesterday, standing in front of my chair, yelling at Jordan Babineaux after an interception had slipped through his fingers. The wife was laughing, the recliner was bouncing up and down and the dog was cowering in the corner.

Yeah, intellectually I know there is no way Jordan Babineaux could hear me, even if they had been playing in Seattle instead of Chicago. And yeah, intellectually, I know it’s stupid to have so much wrapped up in a game that my blood pressure goes through the roof. And, yeah, intellectually, I know I’m not alone.

Hey, that last one makes me feel better.

See, after Chicago won Sunday, I started to wonder why I felt so depressed. It’s not like anyone had died, or been seriously maimed, or even sort of hurt. It was just a football game after all.

So, to satisfy my intellectual curiosity, I started researching sports and depression. And, thanks to our well-spent government dollars, there is a lot of research out there.

I found out we identify with teams, that sports takes us away from our everyday problems and moaning about your teams stops you from moaning about your own life.

Wow. Wish I could have collected some of that grant money. Never knew any of that.

But why, after your team has suffered a tough loss, does life seem so meaningless? Why the rest of the day do the clouds look more ominous, the TV look darker, the Diet Pepsi taste flatter. OK, I understand the TV part, because my shoe is in the middle of it, but the rest? Why?

Especially with pro football, where the games only happen once a week and the last loss – like Sunday’s – has to be relived for the next eight or nine months.

Robert Cialdini, a professor of psychology at Arizona State, told the New York Times a few years ago, “our sports heroes are our warriors. This is not some light diversion to be enjoyed for its inherent grace and harmony. The self is centrally involved in the outcome of the event. Whoever you root for represents you.”

He called it “basking in reflected glory.” Except there is no glory when your team loses. That’s why most people use “we won” to describe a victory and “they lost” after a defeat.

But not us true sports nuts. No, we just get depressed.

New York-based sports psychologist Dr. Richard Lustberg was recently quoted in the Bridgewater Courier-News talking about the group element of being a fan.

“Being at a game, or even being in your living room, cheering along with 80,000 people, is a high that you can’t get in a lot of places,” he told the New Jersey paper.

And maybe that’s what happens after a loss. It’s like waking up the morning after your brother’s bachelor party. Intellectually, you know you shouldn’t have sung “Desperado” with the karaoke machine, but you were under the influence.

And now it’s going to haunt you for eight or nine months.

Still, we keep coming back, usually under our own free will. Other times because your friends goad you into it. Or maybe it’s because the boss forces you.

Either way, losing sucks. Even intellectuals know that.