Powerlessness and the Backwards K
Powerlessness, that’s the word of the week. It the sentiment I received from my vending supervisor at the beginning of the week regards to they way I was treated by management in Detroit. And it’s the feeling I had all week long as I rode the blue and orange roller coaster. Powerlessness may not even be a word (Parsons? Jake? anybody…). But it certainly sums it all up very well. Its the emotion that brings a rational scientific man to believe a batters success depends solely on the angle in which one is sitting in a chair watching the game as is unfolds 600 plus miles away. It’s the emotion, which had me busting my ass to help co-workers after being cut off from sales myself. Powerlessness is why people turn to god ( I admit I said a prayer or two last night, but only during Shawn Green’s at bats), refusal to admit powerlessness builds social and behavioral disorders (a learned a lot to teach 10 weeks of psych), powerlessness is why people love sports.
People need to give themselves up to something bigger, to cling to the outcome of something so dearly and then let go of the power to effect that outcome just as adamantly as they clung to it. When giving yourself up to be part of something bigger your able forget about all those things in your life you do have power over. Finally a decisions you don’t have to make. You can let Willie Randolph make it for you. And even if you leave it up to a guy and he doesn’t take his bat off his shoulder, its ok because you can absolve yourself the moment things are over. Yeah your crushed, yeah your angry, but when you wake up the next morning you realize that it had nothing to do with you. It was something greater than you something that meant more to people other than you.
One of the most difficult things about being a Met fan for me is the fact that I don’t see other Met fans every day. And applauding the amazings requires a certain level of commiseration. The powerlessness means nothing with out others whom share it. In 2000, being eliminated was so much rougher. I was surrounded by sports fans yes living in all guy freshman residence hall but they were all understandingly was apathetic toward the series as was most of the rest of country out side of the region between the Raritan Bridge and the Conneticut River. No one was really there with me. And i had to suffer through tales of the SUNY dorms in whihc residents litterally drew down hall ways. Yeah I had my ‘rents but I was down at school and commiseration with you parents just doesn’t count for some reason.
This year was so much different. I saw it her eyes as she walked Asbury when I left for practice last night, she was excited and nervous about game seven. Just like, I knew it in her brother when he referred to the Mets as “we” in Pittsburgh a month ago. Erin is now my commiseration companion and now she really knows what is like to be a Met fan. You can buy a jersey and look really hot in it. You can suffer through some nasty weather (oppressive heat at Shea, and cats and dogs at GABP). You can develop your own in game rituals. But until you suffer through a loss like last night your not a Met fan. Now, baby love, you’re a Met fan. Until last night, your tried veil it as your love for me and his hotness as the motive behind you devotion. But when Carlos watched that curve ball drop right through the strike zone and you were as visibly upset as I, if not more, then I knew you actually cared about all this.
By caring, Erin has given me someone to commiserate with. I can’t Show up, at Shea. I can’t ride with mobs on the seven train (imagine how quite that train was last night). I can’t grab a knish in the 5th inning or some sushi during BP. But I can when, circumstances permit turn on the TV cuddle up with a bowl of ice cream look across the couch and see another Met fan. If Erin had a pre-existing baseball devotion, I would still love her as relentlessly as I do right now. This just makes my own sports experience more meaningful and thusly more enjoyable. Bottom line is I LOVE BASEBALL, but more importantly we love each other and now WE love the Mets.
People need to give themselves up to something bigger, to cling to the outcome of something so dearly and then let go of the power to effect that outcome just as adamantly as they clung to it. When giving yourself up to be part of something bigger your able forget about all those things in your life you do have power over. Finally a decisions you don’t have to make. You can let Willie Randolph make it for you. And even if you leave it up to a guy and he doesn’t take his bat off his shoulder, its ok because you can absolve yourself the moment things are over. Yeah your crushed, yeah your angry, but when you wake up the next morning you realize that it had nothing to do with you. It was something greater than you something that meant more to people other than you.
One of the most difficult things about being a Met fan for me is the fact that I don’t see other Met fans every day. And applauding the amazings requires a certain level of commiseration. The powerlessness means nothing with out others whom share it. In 2000, being eliminated was so much rougher. I was surrounded by sports fans yes living in all guy freshman residence hall but they were all understandingly was apathetic toward the series as was most of the rest of country out side of the region between the Raritan Bridge and the Conneticut River. No one was really there with me. And i had to suffer through tales of the SUNY dorms in whihc residents litterally drew down hall ways. Yeah I had my ‘rents but I was down at school and commiseration with you parents just doesn’t count for some reason.
This year was so much different. I saw it her eyes as she walked Asbury when I left for practice last night, she was excited and nervous about game seven. Just like, I knew it in her brother when he referred to the Mets as “we” in Pittsburgh a month ago. Erin is now my commiseration companion and now she really knows what is like to be a Met fan. You can buy a jersey and look really hot in it. You can suffer through some nasty weather (oppressive heat at Shea, and cats and dogs at GABP). You can develop your own in game rituals. But until you suffer through a loss like last night your not a Met fan. Now, baby love, you’re a Met fan. Until last night, your tried veil it as your love for me and his hotness as the motive behind you devotion. But when Carlos watched that curve ball drop right through the strike zone and you were as visibly upset as I, if not more, then I knew you actually cared about all this.
By caring, Erin has given me someone to commiserate with. I can’t Show up, at Shea. I can’t ride with mobs on the seven train (imagine how quite that train was last night). I can’t grab a knish in the 5th inning or some sushi during BP. But I can when, circumstances permit turn on the TV cuddle up with a bowl of ice cream look across the couch and see another Met fan. If Erin had a pre-existing baseball devotion, I would still love her as relentlessly as I do right now. This just makes my own sports experience more meaningful and thusly more enjoyable. Bottom line is I LOVE BASEBALL, but more importantly we love each other and now WE love the Mets.
posted by lanzoff @ 9:00 AM
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