Hi, my name is Marcus, and I am a sportsaholic. The first step is to admit it, right? I love everything about sports. I spend a lot of my time watching them and, of course, writing about them. But with every addiction, there comes some unwanted side effects. Oh, how nice it would be if these wouldn’t affect me, but they do.
With every extreme passion, there can come extreme disappointment. For food lovers, a bad meal can ruin your day. A bad performance by my team can ruin mine. Even my week if I am not careful. That has happened far too often recently.
I am a Jazz fan, born and raised. I grew up as a fan of the purple-wearing Jazz, back when Energy Solutions Arena was the Delta Center, and long before they ditched the color of royalty for a mundane blue-and-green scheme. Back then, the Jazz at least disappointed me by losing to Michael Jordan and the Bulls in the NBA Finals.
This year, the Jazz are disappointing for an entirely different reason. They have started the season 1-14 and are considered the worst team in the league. Coming into the season, those who follow the team knew the Jazz would have a mediocre-at-best season. But even I couldn’t have imagined being worse than the Charlotte Bobcats. That was unfathomable to many NBA fans.
I must say that now I am not devastated by every Jazz loss. I can’t be, or I will die of heart failure before the all-star break. The team that has my heart and mind in knots is my Packers.
Football only has 16 games in a season. Every loss lasts a week, two if you lose going into a bye week. If you are lucky, your team can have a Thursday game and win, only leaving you with the sting of loss for four days.
Four weeks ago, I was as happy as a clam. My team was at the top of their division and primed to start the season 6-2. However, as fate or a 300-pound lineman would have it, Aaron Rodgers fractured his collarbone. At this moment, the Packers are now 5-5 and in third place in their division, having lost three games in a row.
It was a Monday night when Rodgers went down. I stormed out of the restaurant I was eating in, upset as could be, as the Packers lost the game on account of the backup quarterback, and that has persisted for three weeks. Interceptions have been thrown, throws have been missed; even the backup got hurt so the third-string quarterback is at the reins. Life isn’t so peachy anymore.
Hopefully, having written this on Saturday, the Packers won on Sunday, and all is right with the world. They are only one game back in the division, and with some luck, Rodgers will be ready to play on Thanksgiving. If not, if you see me today, I might not have a smile on my face.
Thus is the life of someone like me, someone addicted to something that can either satisfy or mortify. Something to boast about, or something to hang your head over. Something that can lift you up to the peak of joy or plummet you down to the abyss of misery.
It may sound extreme, I know. Like I said in the beginning, I have a problem. But out of all the problems I have, this is the one that I treasure. Although I may become a dual personality, I would rather revel in the joy of victory and wallow in the pits of defeat than not have a stake in it at all.
Thus is the life of a sportsaholic. We know we have a problem. We know we probably need help. But we don’t want it. Bring on the next game. Bring on the next mood swing. We crave it, and it is ready to be experienced. Maybe this week is our week. Maybe today nothing will be able to bring us down. Maybe now everything will be right in the world, or at least my world. Here’s hoping.