You keep me hanging on
Set me free, why don't you babe/ Get out my life Why don't you babe
Cos you really don't want me/ You just keep me hanging on
No you really don't need me/ You just keep me hanging on
When I was nine years old, I was going to be a professional football player. I was going to be the quarterback for the Denver Broncos and win several Super Bowls and go to the Hall of Fame.
Sure, there were obstacles in my way. For example, my parents wouldn't let me play organized football because they thought it was to dangerous. But that was just a minor detail that I'm sure the scouts would overlook.
When Official Brother reached the ripe old age of nine, he had different career aspirations. Instead of being a professional athlete or a lawyer he wanted to be a hearse driver. Since all kids look forward to driving, this was the dream job. He could drive all over town and since there wouldn't be any conversation coming from the back, he could blast the radio as loud as he wanted.
What can I say . . . he had a point.
Note: Sadly, the blogger picture thingy isn't working or you'd be looking at a picture of a hearse right now . . . if they get it fixed, I'll try to add the photo.
However, we both grew up and our dreams faded away. But we were nine when we had those aspirations. No one actually makes lifelong decisions at that age . . . except for one.
By nine, you've picked your favorite sports team. For me, it was the Cubs, for most everyone else in south Georgia at the time, it was the Braves. (Though, in all honesty, most people "claim" to have been Braves fans during the rough era of the 80s, despite the fact that no one, and I mean NO ONE went to the games. It wasn't until they started winning in 1991 that they all came out of the closet and claimed to be diehard Braves fans.)
Nearly 20 years later, I'm still a Cubs fan. But why? They've given me much more heartache than joy over the years. I mean, four winning seasons since 1987. I wouldn't take this kind of return on my investment from anything else. If I ended up buying a crappy car that needed to go to the shop every three months, I'd get rid of it. If Yes Dear treated me that poorly when we were dating, she wouldn't be Yes Dear. But I can sell a car or dump a girlfriend and society is ok with that.
However, society would label me a bandwagon fan or fair weather fan if I changed my favorite team. At no other point in life are we expected to make permanent decisions at nine-years old. If we did, the world would be overrun with fireman and astronauts.
But sports is different. Judging from the Red Sox fans reaction after winning the World Series last year, the thrill of victory is worth much more than the agony of defeat for all those years. And while that's nice for the fans still here, what about the fans who died during the previous 86 years waiting for a Red Sox title. If they'd jumped on the Yankee bandwagon, their life would have had much more joy at the culmination of baseball season.
So here I am, another postseason with the Cubs not involved. I'm not going to abandon my favorite team, but from now on, I won't look down on people who do in favor of a more successful team.
Health Update: I wish I smoked. At least that way I'd have a reason for this nagging cough that I've had since Monday. Other than that, I feel good.
Weekend plans: Yes Dear has three of her girlfriends coming into town. I'll watch baseball while they do whatever it is girls do when they get together. (According to Jerry Seinfeld, they go for coffee before returning home to strip to their bra and panties for a tickle fight. Having no evidence of my own, I'm willing to believe that)
On Deck: A special blog post from DC Brother about his quest to get my book signed.
Cos you really don't want me/ You just keep me hanging on
No you really don't need me/ You just keep me hanging on
When I was nine years old, I was going to be a professional football player. I was going to be the quarterback for the Denver Broncos and win several Super Bowls and go to the Hall of Fame.
Sure, there were obstacles in my way. For example, my parents wouldn't let me play organized football because they thought it was to dangerous. But that was just a minor detail that I'm sure the scouts would overlook.
When Official Brother reached the ripe old age of nine, he had different career aspirations. Instead of being a professional athlete or a lawyer he wanted to be a hearse driver. Since all kids look forward to driving, this was the dream job. He could drive all over town and since there wouldn't be any conversation coming from the back, he could blast the radio as loud as he wanted.
What can I say . . . he had a point.
Note: Sadly, the blogger picture thingy isn't working or you'd be looking at a picture of a hearse right now . . . if they get it fixed, I'll try to add the photo.
However, we both grew up and our dreams faded away. But we were nine when we had those aspirations. No one actually makes lifelong decisions at that age . . . except for one.
By nine, you've picked your favorite sports team. For me, it was the Cubs, for most everyone else in south Georgia at the time, it was the Braves. (Though, in all honesty, most people "claim" to have been Braves fans during the rough era of the 80s, despite the fact that no one, and I mean NO ONE went to the games. It wasn't until they started winning in 1991 that they all came out of the closet and claimed to be diehard Braves fans.)
Nearly 20 years later, I'm still a Cubs fan. But why? They've given me much more heartache than joy over the years. I mean, four winning seasons since 1987. I wouldn't take this kind of return on my investment from anything else. If I ended up buying a crappy car that needed to go to the shop every three months, I'd get rid of it. If Yes Dear treated me that poorly when we were dating, she wouldn't be Yes Dear. But I can sell a car or dump a girlfriend and society is ok with that.
However, society would label me a bandwagon fan or fair weather fan if I changed my favorite team. At no other point in life are we expected to make permanent decisions at nine-years old. If we did, the world would be overrun with fireman and astronauts.
But sports is different. Judging from the Red Sox fans reaction after winning the World Series last year, the thrill of victory is worth much more than the agony of defeat for all those years. And while that's nice for the fans still here, what about the fans who died during the previous 86 years waiting for a Red Sox title. If they'd jumped on the Yankee bandwagon, their life would have had much more joy at the culmination of baseball season.
So here I am, another postseason with the Cubs not involved. I'm not going to abandon my favorite team, but from now on, I won't look down on people who do in favor of a more successful team.
Health Update: I wish I smoked. At least that way I'd have a reason for this nagging cough that I've had since Monday. Other than that, I feel good.
Weekend plans: Yes Dear has three of her girlfriends coming into town. I'll watch baseball while they do whatever it is girls do when they get together. (According to Jerry Seinfeld, they go for coffee before returning home to strip to their bra and panties for a tickle fight. Having no evidence of my own, I'm willing to believe that)
On Deck: A special blog post from DC Brother about his quest to get my book signed.
posted by Luke at 10:27 AM
<< Home