Nomadic Fandom: Why Playing the Field Comes Highly Recommended

   

I’ve been an NBA nomad since my Rochester Royals left town. I will develop affinities for certain teams without ever tying the knot with them. If you don’t naturally grow up with a strong connection to a certain team in a certain sport, I highly recommend this drifting fandom lifestyle. In many ways its like taking a class pass/fail. Less stress over the outcome often brings about more pleasure in the product.

Speed dating fandom allows one to appreciate the league as a whole, without getting bogged down caring about the PER of the same eight players and the coaching decisions of the same coach over the 82-game grind. As a nomad, I can come to appreciate different teams and different moments without feeling like I’m committing adultery.
I’ve been crushing on the plucky Bobcats and Suns this spring. Teams with former Syracuse players in their starting 5’s (New York, Cleveland, Philadelphia) have my approval, though even Wes Johnson’s 9.1 PPG can’t bring me to root for the Lakers. I’ll cheer 11% more for whichever team nabs Tyler Ennis in the draft. Playing the Heat in the Finals is a good way into my heart. I mailed a thank you card out to the Mavericks in 2011 and was 5.2 seconds away from mailing one to the attn: of Gregg Popovich last June.

I understand the euphoric highs I’m sacrificing, the ones rewarded to the true fans that endure the grind and see their team succeed, but after another 6-win Buffalo Bills season, I’m content with just sitting back and avoiding the infuriatingly crushing lows that comes when the team you put your soul, voice and concerns into disappoints.

The unattached sports experience also keeps one from being affixed to a loathsome team. Like family, you don’t choose who you root for. It’s something you’re born into more often than not. My grandfather was a Red Wings fan; my father was a Red Wings fan, ergo… Octopus! While this “fandom as birthright” notion strengthens familial bonds and makes for solid B plot tropes, it can lead to a repugnant product being foisted upon you. Think of the young wizard who is sorted into Slytherin because Slytherin was his father’s house or the innocent child in Nassau County who grows up a fan of the Dolan Knicks through no fault of his own.

You don’t jump ship when your team becomes less likable. I tend to be wary of those who arbitrate “true” fandom, but sticking with your squad no matter what might be the closest thing to a hard-and-fast rule we have.

You stick with your team no matter the depths of their loathsomeness. I’ve been a Yankees fan since I could pronounce “El Duque”. I soaked in their ’98-’00 Godzilla romp through the rest of the league. I cried for a day when Luis Gonzalez blooped that single. It was the first moment I realized the Yankees were mortal.

In the early and mid-aughts, I watched as the Yankees morphed into their truest iterations of the “Evil Empire”, a period where Steinbrenner tolled up a payroll the size of most Eastern European GDPs. The overpriced toys acquired in this era were sometimes good (Gary Sheffield), sometimes bad (Kevin Brown), but consistently unlikeable.

While human nature would lead any impartial viewer with a modicum of morality to root for the spirited underdog with a payroll of $50 million, Yankees fans had to close off human nature from their cerebrums and instead root for their Bronx Bombers to crush the dreams of the otherwise lovable Wild Card team (quite often the Twins). During those years, the pinstripes represented less tradition and class, and more gluttonous privilege. Rooting for them was like rooting for the 1% to rake in fall bonuses.

While light-years from being spendthrifts, the Yanks have at least somewhat (again, somewhat) tempered their image as drunken carnivorous spenders in the post-Steinbrenner years. Still, being a Yankees fan today means pulling for Goliath to triumph. Being a Yankees fan still means hoping Suzyn Waldman’s happy (she tends to talk more when she is). Being a Yankees fan still means rooting for A-Rod. Don't get me wrong. I’m grateful to ride with the Yanks no matter how much pine tar is found dotted on our starting pitchers' necks. But don’t think this fandom is all smile emojis and lilacs in Monument Park.

So as we go further into the NBA playoffs, my conscious can rest easy. I can adopt teams that demonstrate likable qualities and shrug when they exit. I can marvel at players and plays without guilt nor jealousy. I don’t have to worry about anything, a rare but alluring existence for a sports fan.