![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I watched a football game today for the first time this season, the AFC championship game between the Pittsburgh Steelers and Denver Broncos. The very first football game I ever watched was a Steelers/Broncos playoff game in 1978; the Steelers won 33-10 and went on to win the Super Bowl, and I've been a Pittsburgh fan ever since. ( spoiler for today's game, in case you haven't watched it yet )
Being a fan of a sports team is a weird thing, and hard to explain to someone who's never been a fan. Football is a beautiful game, especially at the professional level (I could never get into watching college football). It's one thing to appreciate it on that level, predicting (and second-guessing) the strategies, marveling at the feats of athleticism and teamwork, and tracking statistics to compare with history and see new records in the making. But when one of the teams is "your team", it adds another whole level of emotional intensity to each thrilling victory and agonizing defeat. But it's totally arbitrary: it was a more an accident of timing than any other reason for me to have picked the Steelers—I've never lived anywhere near Pittsburgh. And the team today has practically nothing in common with the team of 1978: different players, different coach, different playing style, different stadium. But it has the same name and the same colors, and somehow that's all that matters. (It also has the same owners, which is kind of remarkable, but not really relevant.) Here in Boston, I've enjoyed watching the success of the Patriots and Red Sox, but it's nowhere near as stirring as to watch the black-and-gold Steel Curtain in the playoffs, win or lose.
Now if only the Pirates could put something together again...
Being a fan of a sports team is a weird thing, and hard to explain to someone who's never been a fan. Football is a beautiful game, especially at the professional level (I could never get into watching college football). It's one thing to appreciate it on that level, predicting (and second-guessing) the strategies, marveling at the feats of athleticism and teamwork, and tracking statistics to compare with history and see new records in the making. But when one of the teams is "your team", it adds another whole level of emotional intensity to each thrilling victory and agonizing defeat. But it's totally arbitrary: it was a more an accident of timing than any other reason for me to have picked the Steelers—I've never lived anywhere near Pittsburgh. And the team today has practically nothing in common with the team of 1978: different players, different coach, different playing style, different stadium. But it has the same name and the same colors, and somehow that's all that matters. (It also has the same owners, which is kind of remarkable, but not really relevant.) Here in Boston, I've enjoyed watching the success of the Patriots and Red Sox, but it's nowhere near as stirring as to watch the black-and-gold Steel Curtain in the playoffs, win or lose.
Now if only the Pirates could put something together again...