I talk a lot about being a fan. In my Ethics in Sport class at Manhattanville College, by far the most popular course offered in the Sport Studies major, we spend several weeks trying to figure out how to be a good fan. A moral fandom, sport ethicists tell us, requires us to be temperate with our support, demonstrating respect for the opponent, demanding fair and practiced play from both sides, and, perhaps most of all, celebrating excellence -- all excellence -- when it happens. To be sure, it’s not easy to be a moderate partisan of sport, a good fan. Sure, no one wants to be that maniacal person who cheers when someone on the other team gets injured or sits on their hands when the opposing goalie makes an amazing save.
Just say it: Good get, keeper! Well played, keeper!
Come on, we can all be that person, right?
Overcoming blind devotion to a team, especially if it means eschewing a win-at-all-cost attitude, can allow space to engender a more universal kind of love for the game. This doesn’t mean that anyone needs to stay calm when Derrick White hits the buzzer-beater for the ages to throw the Celtics into a Game 7 against the Heat. But it does mean that all of us, whether a Celtics fan, a Miami fan, or no fan at all, should be able to take a step back and marvel for a hot minute that he hit that shot at that moment.
Of course, my lifelong obsession with the Red Sox, which I also talk about a lot, doesn’t always give me such grace. They don’t call us the Fenway Faithful for nothing -- this kind of fandom is a faith-based practice that I have passed -- along with a necessary sense of anguish and dedication that counters any of the world’s major religions -- to my child. At the very least, my fandom for Boston provides me community and connection with folks I have never met -- a so-called Red Sox Nation that spans the globe (there are pockets of Red Sox fans from Denver to Hawaii to Lyon, France) in which day-to-day interactions are imagined.
It also, again, like religion, gives me a sense of belief in things I cannot see. Case in point: during Game 4 of the Heat/Celtics series, a do-or-die game for Boston, I ran over to a friend’s house to drop off a birthday cake for their daughter. In those few minutes, the Celtics surged ahead. We obviously could not leave. We are why it happened. Just like I couldn’t get off the phone for two hours in 2004 with my bestie in Boston: we are why the Red Sox won.
We know, or we should know, that we cannot make someone win, a lesson I have taken in time and time again and yet never seem to fully learn. But when victory does happen, we own it, we take responsibility, and we understand that as a fan, we aren’t just cheering for that instant, for that athlete, for that team, but for the whole journey, the whole saga, that took to get there.
And let’s be clear: this isn’t limited to sport. The eight hours I recently spent with Taylor Swift, my daughter, my best friend, and her daughters, at Gillette Stadium wasn’t just about the music: it represented the battle to get tickets, the work put in to memorize the bridges (I see you, “Cruel Summer”), and -- oh yes -- the crucially important choice of outfit.
I chose to represent the “Midnights” era. I wore a tee-shirt that said “Karma.” Thanks for asking.
Swift is performing her 17-year career -- and yes, an artist who is in her prime, dominating the world, is essentially on a greatest hits tour -- in stadiums across America right now to a fanbase that is, in a word, generational. The artistic showcase of her Eras Tour isn’t just about her journey -- it’s about that of her devotees as well, who showed their not-at-all moderate fandom for her for over three hours of scream singing and dancing.
I understand. As a teen, I lived and died by what Bono sang and said. As an adult, I still have my moments. Indeed, just last Friday night at the Nederlander Theater at a performance of the hilarious new musical “Shucked,” I lost my mind when Alex Newell took to the stage to sing Independently Owned, an actual bona fide showstopper. Before they finished their last note, I - (and I wasn’t alone) was on my feet to cheer the performer, the song, the spirit -- just standing in awe of watching someone absolutely and completely nail it: a home run.
I do love being a fan.
Amy Bass is professor of sport studies and chair of the division of social science and communication at Manhattanville College. Bass is the author of ONE GOAL: A COACH, A TEAM, AND THE GAME THAT BROUGHT A DIVIDED TOWN TOGETHER, among other titles. In 2012, she won an Emmy for her work with NBC Olympic Sports on the London Olympic Games.
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