Fuller recently declared his shifting sports affinity. Gone is his interest in the NFL and all its “drama.” The EPL is for him the new show in town. And what’s not to get excited about? Well, any of it, really.
I can anticipate Fuller’s comment now: “Jesus, Canelli, what’s with the grim outlook? Lighten up, yo.” And he wouldn’t be wrong (which is effectively another way of saying he’s wrong). Rather, I’m right to doubt the merit of being a spectator to a bunch of people younger than me stuck in a fruitless pursuit (cue generic deconstruction of capitalism, commodification, and consumption). This isn’t to say that I’m doing anything more meaningful, or that my life’s calling is somehow more noble. It is simply to wonder (while roping other people into my doubts and projecting my anxieties onto them) why I still care.
I’ve written about this before. Prior to my India trip in the summer, I wrote myself a letter about not following the Eagles and other Philly sports teams anymore. They weren’t fulfilling me in any way. And I’ve held true to that letter in some ways. Professional sports are in the margins of my interests, which is crazy growth away from my former adoration of them. Yet for all my expressed indifference, I still have a fantasy football team. I’m way more strategic about it than I should be too. For instance, I don’t have the stats, but I must be up there at the top of the league in number of transactions. It’s not like I just drafted a team and said, “welp, that’s enough of that.” I’m actively making moves. I get excited when I win, and I’m pissed off when I lose. Why give any time or thought to this stuff?
I used to rationalize it as a way to stay connected to my family, but we don’t even talk about it that much. And I don’t even know half of the people in our league. What are any of us getting out of it, locked in our little fantasy cocoons, playing the worst form of God imaginable?
Note: I won last week. By a wide margin. I was stupidly thrilled.