It Really All Started with MJ

It was June of 1998. I was nearly nine-years-old when I watched Jordan push off rise up over Bryon Russell and swish the game-winning bucket to give the Bulls their second straight championship over my Utah Jazz.

It was another loss.

A heartbreaking defeat.

And in all my years of fandom, it’s the closest I’ve ever been.

As the final buzzer went off that summer, I ran into my bedroom with tears streaming down my face. I slammed my door, leaving my dad, also in agony, in my wake. My dad was a school teacher, and he had relentlessly promoted his Jazz fandom to his students in Medford, Oregon throughout the weeks of those finals. As I slammed my door, I remember hearing the phone ring. And ring. And ring. It went to voicemail where schoolboys gloated about the Jazz’s loss to pay back their teacher, all in good fun between them. Me? I went face first into my pillow, punching sheets and sobbing louder to drown out the phone calls.

i hate this

It’s been like this for most of my life and for most of my sporting endeavors.

Football, for example, was no different.

The sport with the pigskin is my clear #2 sport when it comes to rankings, yet the outcomes are no different than previously stated. I played football in junior high, where my team went winless. As I was a spectator for my high school football team, the highlight came when we lost a play-in-game to get into the playoffs. I went to college at Utah State University where my freshman year I sat in the snow with 20 other students to watch punts and interceptions on a three-win team.

What can I say? I am a tortured fan. And I love it.