Overwhelmed by Hate - baseball fans - Brief Article - Column

USA Today (Society for the Advancement of Education), Nov, 2000 by Wayne M. Barrett

MY TWO FAVORITE TEAMS are the Mets and whoever plays the Yankees" has been a popular T-shin in New York for years. Besides its clever take on the Big Apple baseball wars (Yankee fans wear the same shirt with the saying reversed), this epigram goes straight to the heart of one of the sports world's eternal questions: Is it more important for the team you love to win or for the team you hate to lose'? The answer would appear to be a slam dunk: Of course you want your favorite team to win (a championship), because if it does, then the team you hate had to lose. The trouble is that word "if."

Emotions, and the factors motivating them, especially those of a sports fan, are entirely and purely personal. That said, the answer--as dysfunctional as it sounds--is: It depends, but in an overwhelming number of instances, it's much more important for the teams I hate to lose than the teams I love to win. Here's why: The teams I love (and I mean really, really love) never win--well, almost never, I've been a San Francisco Giants, Cleveland Browns, and University of Tennessee (football) fan for a combined 97 seasons. Throw in the New York Rangers (1967-86), and it adds up to a grand total of one title (Tennessee in 1998) in 117 seasons. That's beyond suffering; it's downright numbing.

Having your favorite teams beaten down year after year can skew your perspective, so much so that you start rooting against the teams you love so the teams you hate don't win. Here's a perfect example: Down the stretch drive in 1998, the Mets, Giants, and Chicago Cubs were battling for the National League wild card spot. The Cubs were in the best position to clinch, so when they went head-to-head with San Francisco, I rooted for Chicago in order to keep the Mets out of the playoffs.

Ah, but love should always triumph over hate, and the baseball gods stepped in to teach me a bitter lesson: Be careful what you wish for. The Mets collapsed, losing their final five games of the season. Just a single victory' during that span would've secured them a tie for a playoff spot. So, my prayer of hate was granted. But at what price? The Giants staged a spectacular run, winning nine of 11 heading into the last day of the regular season. In the finale, they had a commanding lead in Colorado; blew it; ultimately lost the game; finished tied with the Cubs; then lost a one-game playoff in Chicago.

The ultimate blow, though, is undoubtedly when the team you love loses to the team you hate. So it was this past season, when the Mets beat the Giants in the NLDS. I was not only there for New York's Game 4 clinching celebration, but also endured the historic Game 3 marathon in person, which set Division Series longevity records for innings (13) and time (5:22). How's that for slow torture?

Yet another key component to this love-hate thing is that, once a player or team earns that first (and sometimes only) championship, no matter what the fates held in the past or will hold for the future, that title can never be taken away. Let me frame this from either side of the concept. During my first five years as a Browns' fan (1965-69), Cleveland lost the National Football League championship game three times. My two favorite players as a kid were a pair of Hall-of-Fame running backs, Jimmy Brown and Leroy Kelly. Brown's final season was 1965; Kelly's rookie campaign was the season before. I took great comfort in the fact that they both played for the Browns in 1964, when Cleveland beat the Baltimore Colts for the NFL title. Records fall; dynasties crumble; players get old and retire, but, no matter all the heartbreaking losses for Brown before that game or for Kelly after it, their championship together is for an eternity. On the other hand, there is delight in certain players' career-long torture. It brings me no end of joy that a selfish tout like Patrick Ewing played 15 years for the New York Knicks with zero National Basketball Association titles to show for his efforts.

The love-hate dilemma in sports can be complex and ludicrous at the same time. For instance, I abhor the Yankees. From the cradle and the crib, I was preordained to loathe the pinstripes. Yet, in 1978, I celebrated and savored their winning of the American League pennant as well as their subsequent World Series triumph. How is this possible? Actually, for just the reasons discussed above, I simply had no choice. For starters, the Yanks won it all in 1977, beating the Kansas City Royals in the American League playoffs (in the ninth inning of the deciding game for the second straight year) and then the Los Angeles Dodgers in the World Series.

Okay, so now the hated Yankees had that precious championship that could never be taken away. They also were facing the Royals and Dodgers once again. As a Giants fan, it's my birthright to hate the Dodgers. The Yanks already had their title. I didn't want the Dodgers to have theirs. Moreover, the Royals, whom I liked at the time, had blown chances to deprive the Yankees of their first pennant in 12 years (1976) and first World Series championship in 15 years (1977)--and failed. It was their fault that the Bronx Bombers once again reigned supreme. K.C. had to be punished. I wanted the Royals eliminated.