Marc Loses His Mind
They say, “never bury the lede.” So here goes: I’ve given up sports. For One Year. Really.
Many of you who know me will be shocked. Surprised. Maybe a little disbelief thrown in for good measure. Truth be told, friends of mine who are huge sports fans have had some reactions that have been, quite honestly, appalling. If sports is just another in a long line of horrible social addictions (sex, shopping, Ann Coulter), then the reactions make sense: anger, bordering on rage. You know that group of drunks that get together every night? Then one guy decides to get straight, and he’s treated like a pariah? Yeah, that kind of nails it. Essentially, I’m the heroin addict who gave up Maxwell’s Silver Hammer.
So how did an addict come clean? It’s actually not that complicated.
I was watching a horrific NY Football Giants loss one gray December afternoon. And it pissed me off. Boy, did it piss me off. Now, I’m the first to admit that sports plays (had played?) a much bigger part of my life than a normal person would allow. I hang on every pitch, every third-and-long, every five-on-three advantage. To the point where I’m ignoring things. You know, little things: personal hygiene, small-arms fire, Hurricane Katrina. But this time, I took it out on my kids. Not physically, you understand – I’m not that deranged. But I was short with them. Raised my voice. Overreacted to messes made. Now, these aren’t things to get crazy over, but in the middle of screaming at one of my three-year-olds for coloring outside the lines, I had an epiphany. I was behaving irrationally because of sports. Sports I hadn’t bet on, sports that had no meaningful relevance to me.
And I decided then and there that I wasn’t going to let millionaires have any impact on my emotional well being. Really, that’s it.
So, I’m giving up sports for one year. Cold turkey. I’m not judging anyone who still loves the Yanks. Blueseaters are OK by me. And the Big Blue Fan Club can crash at my house any time. But I want to see what happens. I’m curious. What will happen to me? Will I go through major withdrawal? Probably. Will I miss it? I already do. Will I return to sports after my yearlong self-imposed exile? Who knows. But this much is certain: it will be an interesting ride.
And maybe I’ll even learn something about myself.
Now, where’s that remote…?