At the beginning of eighth grade, something happened for the first time since 1918: People started to care about the Boston Red Sox.
If I had lived in Boston, this would not be anything new—Bostonians are some of the most die-hard fans out there. But in the suburbs of Minneapolis, the Bostonian diaspora is pretty minimal, and yet, one World Series win was enough to make more than a few bandwagoning middle-schoolers think wearing Curt Schilling jerseys that brought out their pimples was the coolest thing since pogs.
From that fall onward, I was sure of one thing: Fair-weather fandom is a confusing and despicable phenomenon.
As I was walking through downtown Minneapolis over break, I saw the same trend take new form. I saw Timberwolves jerseys—and lots of them.
Throughout the Twin Cities, people have started to care about our hometown basketball team, despite its sub-.500 record. There’s a strange glimmer of hope that this is the year that the Timberwolves will stop being the worst of our perennially disappointing sports teams. For many, even the slightest hint at team improvement is enough to justify dropping 60 bucks on a new Ricky Rubio jersey.
At Columbia, the situation has been quite the opposite. We have a basketball team with a winning record that won 11 of 12 games going into the Ivy season, but I don’t think there’s any concern that the school will run out of jerseys to sell—and nobody was rushing back to campus early to attend the first two Ancient Eight games two weekends ago.
We’re divided into two camps: the squadron that cares about our sports teams, and the army that does not. Regardless of how good our teams are, there’s not much in the way of a middle ground—in any given year, I’d be willing to bet that about the same proportion of students have any idea how our sports teams are doing, whether they’re undefeated, winless, or somewhere in between. We’ve transcended fair-weather fandom—and that may not be such a bad thing.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is my dad, who has been a fan of Army football for the past 50 years. In the 20 years I’ve been alive, Army has had a grand total of three winning seasons. But, in spite of his team’s inability to win games, my dad’s support has never wavered.
In a similar vein, it’s become almost a matter of pride for Chicago Cubs fans to complain to anyone who will listen that their beloved Cubbies haven’t won a World Series in over a hundred years. While certainly annoying, those people really are as devoted as a fan base can possibly be.
Sure, the Columbia sports teams need support, and people should start going to games to support their friends and classmates, but it’s unrealistic to think that Columbia sports will ever have a devoted fan base like the Cubs. The fact of the matter remains: We’re just not a community that unites itself around sports. There may be a few people like my dad here or there who are rooting for our teams regardless of how they’re doing, but the majority of people probably won’t care either way about our place in the standings.
I maintain that this lack of fair-weather fans is a good thing. The way I see it, true fandom is like a strong marriage. In your wedding vows, you generally pledge to be supportive through whatever obstacles life may throw at you. Sometimes it’s painful to be bound to a winless team, but a true fan sticks it out through the good times and the bad.
By contrast, fairweather fans give the impression that their fandom is contingent on the team’s success—it’s like a girl saying to a guy, “I’ll only be interested in you when you’re a multimillionaire.”
That said, I’m not for requiring proof of devotion as an entry requirement at Levien. Sometimes it’s nice to have company other than Roar-ee, the cheerleaders, and the band. For those that bemoan the persistent sports apathy on campus, though, take solace in this knowledge: Our students stick to their principles, through bad times and good.
Tom Caruso is a Columbia College junior majoring in economics-mathematics.