If It's Not About Football

One of my basic themes is "It's not about what they tell us it's about".

Things change, and that's a necessary thing - not necessarily a good thing, but a necessary thing nonetheless.  And it seems to me that we've changed our way into some weird place where we think we have it all figured out - eg: with computerized automation, we can build things to an amazing degree of accuracy, within tolerances that we only dreamed about 35 years ago.  Productivity is thru the roof and the costs of production are so low, we can afford to waste billions of dollars shipping goods from cheap-labor countries to low-price consumers and still turn record-breaking profits, etc etc etc.

And yet, with all our big-brain accomplishments, it would appear the world around us insists on going up in flames anyway, as we sit and wonder what we're doing wrong.  Which led me on a typically circuitous path to remembering the scene from North Dallas Forty (the book, which was pretty good; not the movie, which was bloody fucking awful) where the D Lineman finally goes off on one of the coaches, saying "Whenever we say it's a game, you call it a business; and whenever we call it a business, you say it's just a game."

So, maybe we could take a look at the NFL as an example of our obsession with a kind of robotic pursuit of smash-fitting people into a marketing department's spreadsheet model of perfection -  per Steve Almond:

What kept me hooked was the limbic tingle familiar to any football fan, the sense that I was watching an event that mattered. The speed and scale of the game, the noise of the crowd, the grandiloquent narration and caffeinated camera angles—all these signaled a heightened quality of attention. The players dashed about, their bodies lit in a kind of bright funnel of consequence.

There are all sorts of laudable reasons people watch sports, and football in particular. We wish to reconnect to the unscripted physical pleasures of childhood. We wish for moral structure in a world that feels chaotic, a chance to scratch the inborn itch for tribal affiliation. Sports allow men, in particular, a common language by which to converse.

When we root for a team, the conscious desire is to see them win, to bask in reflected glory. But the unconscious function of fandom is, I think, just the opposite. It’s a form of surrender to our essential helplessness in the universal order. In an age of scientific assurance, people still yearn for spiritual struggle. Fandom allows us to fire our faith in the forge of loss. Because our teams inevitably do lose. And this experience forms the bedrock of our identification.

Backing a team helps Americans, in particular, contend with the unease of living in the most competitive society on earth, a society in which we’re socialized to feel like losers.

That’s the special sauce that capitalism puts on the burgers. It’s how you turn citizens into efficient workers and consumers. You convince them that they are forever falling behind.