I know I've said it before: I love sports reporting. It's really the only genre of reporting where regular guys can really queen it up. Think of a typical Red Sox season, with its typical ups and downs. Every win feeds the fans' omnipotence, every loss plunges them into the depths of despair. 

Look at the weekend's drubbing the Pats received from the Dolphins.  Dan Shaugnessy called it "a hideous loss" that sent him reeling into an "alternative universe."  He urged fans to "try to move forward in a world that no longer makes any sense."

Granted it was a humiliating loss to one of the worst teams in the NFL, but, it’s not quite the shattering “alternative universe” Shaughnessy makes it out to be – I mean, Dan, it’s not like if the Nazis won the Second World War or Bush had won in 2000.  Repeat after me: it's just a game. 

The extremity of these mood swings would seem to demonstrate an unhealthy lack of emotional equilibrium in sports fanatics. Their behavior, if it weren't sanctioned by a billion-dollar sports-industrial complex, would surely be viewed as utterly unacceptable.  At best.

But losing it seems to be the point of extreme fandom.  Modern pro sports fandom provides a safe place, so to speak, to lose control, to express the absolute most obnoxious, primal emotions in the human repertoire openly without social repercussions. 

Baudelaire once remarked that sex is the lyric of the mob, but really it’s spectator sports. And like with sex, we make a lot of its supposed subtleties when in fact it's its straightforwardness that's striking.  And that's not sports fandom's only affinity with sex.  Rabid fandom is linked to hormonal surges at game time.  An article on fandom in the Times reports:

[One study] found that ardent football fans ... experienced extreme physiological arousal when they viewed pictures of [their team's] football stars making game-winning plays, but responded indifferently to pictures of other athletes and teams.

''Individuals that are highly identified with the team show extreme arousal compared to the average fan,'' [the study] said.

Among zealous male and female fans, the study found, the level of arousal — measured by heart rate, brain waves and perspiration — was comparable to what the fans registered when shown erotic photos or pictures of animal attacks.

You don't even want to know what happened when they were shown erotic animal attacks.  Trust me.

Even relatively normal fans get pretty wrapped up in the emotional rollercoaster of a winning season.  One study showed “The self-esteem of … fans … rises and falls with a game's outcome, with losses affecting their optimism about everything from getting a date to winning at darts.” 

Darts, no less.

There have been numerous studies of sports fandom over the years.  Face it: mass hysteria is fascinating at an academic distance.  Most studies tend to focus on the primitive roots of sports hysteria.  Warriors and tribal loyalties and such.  But, come on.  What are we, bonobos?

Our ancestors also competed in the nude, masturbated in public (remember the Cynics?), and engaged in hoka-hoka. Why pick and choose? 

The truth is, the whole issue doesn’t really bear all this much scrutiny. If everyone is screaming, you’ll probably scream too.  The reason more people don't have sex in public is that most people are just better at screaming.  We like to think we’re fascinating and mysterious, but the truth is, human nature ain’t rocket science.

Take the Globe’s photo slideshow that features mostly sports pics, and “what were they thinking?” quotes from the players. Like this one:


Hmm.  What was Harvard's Brett Voight, the one with the ball, thinking? “I have a hair appointment at seven”? "What's the square root of negative one?" “Is that a torpedo in your speedo or are you just happy to see me?” "I probably should not have popped that second Viagra"?

No. He is thinking — surprise, surprise — and I quote: “You’re not getting this ball from me!”

And: “'You can hit me in the face but I'm going to keep going.'

And: “I probably could've taken a good chunk out of his arm right there, but sometimes you've got to keep your teeth white. You know, no blood in the mouth."

I mean, what do you think he was thinking? What would you have been thinking?

Basballers like to bang on about what they were thinking, sort of intellectualizing it, which seems to suit this neurotic little sport, where most of the players are standing around literally ruminating most of the time. Take Coco Crisp’s recollection of what he was thinking when this shot was snapped (wake me up when he's finished):


“My first thought prior to the ball being hit was to keep the ball in front of you to make the play. It's a quick decision to make when the ball is in the air. It was a line drive but it was more of a slow line drive. It wasn't like a bullet. I got a great jump and I thought I had a chance at it, so I went for it. I thought I was going to catch it. I mean, I was right there. My forearm was a little sore and I couldn't turn my glove the other way, so I played it off to my left. To make your best approach you've got to push off [with your spikes]. My glove is always off of my hand like that. I think all outfielders have their gloves off their hands like that. I tried to catch it. I wanted to stop it at least. But when it got by me, I was trying to get up as fast as I can to run back and go get it to stop him from getting a triple. I already knew it was a double. I jumped up. I was upset I didn't get it. Luckily, [Brandon Moss] backed up real well. I make the right decision nine times out of 10. I still think that's the right decision going for it, but you just can't let it get by you. I still think I could've caught that."

*Snork* 

I’d hate to hear him tell me his thoughts on screwing in a lightbulb: “Well, my first thought prior to taking the bulb out of that little box was I would have to remember to switch off the electricity before I plugged it in, but because I was in the utility closet and the light that needed replacing was in the bedroom, I would have to make a sharp right when I entered the bedroom, after having gone all the way down the hall, and reach out and flip the switch. When you screw in a lightbulb you have to remember to rotate the bulb into the socket, but you have to rotate it clockwise, not counter-clockwise, and because it’s an overhead light you have to stand on something to reach up to it…” You know what I’m sayin?

Of course, as with sex, if they're any good, they aren't thinking at all.  Even Coco knows that.  "I wanted... I knew... I went for it... I jumped up... I was upset."  He could be talking about last night with Mrs. Crisp right there. 

Sharpened instinct coupled with superior skill.  That's sports. The express point is: there is no time to analyze the situation, so the instinct to react has to be fine-tuned. You can sit and think about a play all day, but when it comes off in real time, it's magic.  But, I repeat, the point is not to think.  Sports fans and those who report on sports understand this implicitly.

That's the challenge for sports writers that no other brand of journalism presents.  All ecstatic experiences suffer in translation.  Think of Buber's Ich-Du relationship dissolving into Ich-Es in its aftermath.  When Shaughnessy writes: “And we will try to move forward in a world that no longer makes any sense” he's echoing Lear.  He's framing sport as something more than spectacle, mere sound and fury, signifying nothing.  He's framing it as high drama. 

In Elizabethan times, there were no pro sports.  Coincidence?  Methinks not.  And quoits and skittles don't count.   Shaughnessy's "alternative universe" is a Shakespearian one, rife with "juicy subplots" to rival Shakespeare's finest.  I mean, Brady and Moss?  That's a bromance for the ages.  And now Matt Cassell wants in?  I don't think so. 

But the thing about Brady is, he has never sparked the imagination of the rabble, has he?  Even with that last bitter Super Bowl loss and his Achille's knee, Brady's just not a tragic figure.  But, cheer up, Pats fans: Matt Cassell could still turn out to be!