It was late Tuesday night and I was contemplating taking a walk to my neighborhood bar.  I needed to get out of the house, but on an off night like Tuesday, it was iffy if they were even open much past 10PM.  I decided to risk it in that the worst outcome would be that I’d get some exercise.  However, as I approached my bar I could already tell it was not only open, but based on the number of cars parked in the lot, likely heavily attended.  I walked in and sure enough it was packed.  A ton of people, all excited and quite festive.

I ponied up to the bar to get my standard Rumpleminze when I asked the bartender “Hey, what’s with all the commotion?  You guys usually close early on a Tuesday.”

He looked at me with a blank stare, shook his head pitifully and said, “Clarey, only you would not know there’s a game on.”

I looked around and he was right.  Don’t know how I didn’t see it before as everybody was wearing  jerseys, but there on the screen was Minnesota’s beloved home-town hockey team, The Wild, taking on the hated and despised Chicago Black Hawks.

I quickly deduced that this wasn’t just a “regular game” as the decibel level indicated people were heavily vested in the game.  The Wild would come close to scoring, the bar would erupt.  The Blackhawks would get a penalty, the bar would cheer.  And after looking at the screen I realized this was a “do or die” playoff game The Wild had to win as they were already down 2 games to 0 in the series.  It was already the third period with only 6 minutes left to go, and The Wild were up 2-0, so it was likely The Wild would win.

Which they did.

And then high fives were about, additional shots ordered, and talk about how “we” beat the Blackhawks ensued.

As people celebrated I smirked at my bartender.  He knows me well and already knew what I was going to say.  Attempting to pre-empt me he said,

“Clarey, don’t you dare…”

But I cut him off.

“Yeah man!!! WE did it!!!  WE beat the Chicago Blackhawks!  Alright, man, dude I totally knew WE were going to win this one!!!  Boy it sure is great that OUR team, the one WE own and physically participate in beat that other team owned by all those Chicago Blackhawk fans!”

He shook his head and dismissed me as he attended another patron, but neither he nor any of the other bartenders ever argue with me because of one simple reason:

They know I’m right.

Many of us slam on women for wasting time, money, and resources on stupid frivolities in life.  Glamour type magazines, Harlequin romance novels, chick flicks, “Round-House-Kicking-Chick-Cop Shows,” clothes, worthless masters degrees, flirtini’s, soap operas, other men’s children, spas, trinkets, etc., and deservedly so.  The reason is that women squander their vital economic resources and thusly not only become financial liabilities themselves, but disproportionately cause the financial problems of the country as a whole.  Matter of fact, if women were to spend their money ONLY on needs and not frivolities, nearly all of our financial problems would go away.

However, men are largely hypocritical when making such accusations because we too waste our precious resources of time and money on something just as pointless and stupid – professional sports.

Understand a couple things about professional sports and why it is a wasting of your precious few moments in this life.

One, the professional athletes are not YOU.  THEY won the game.  YOU did not.  The athletes who are out on the field, the rink, or the course have nothing to do with you.  They don’t know you.  They don’t care about you (personally).  They’re not even from your local area.  This doesn’t mean they don’t appreciate their fans, but there should be no emotional or psychological attachment to any professional sports team.  Sadly, and all too often, you see people at a bar unwarrantedly get excited and prideful when “their” team wins, while at the same time, angry and depressed if they lose.

Two, not that there’s anything wrong with taking in the occasional game or watching the Super Bowl, but when doing so realize you are sitting on your ass.  You’re not doing jack.  Matter of fact, you’re probably stuffing your face contributing to your obeseness.  The athletes on the other hand are doing all the real work, you are merely living vicariously through them.  Again, who doesn’t love tailgating before a Minnesota Vikings game?  But if it’s a religious experience, where you need to attend every game, or heaven help you if you bought season tickets, you are paying a dear opportunity cost, your physical health not being the least.

Third, sports are ultimately irrelevant.  I always love watching people watch the Olympics because it ultimately boils down to;

Who can throw the sphere the furthest.
Who can twirl the prettiest on the rink.
Who can do the most flippy-things in the air.

None of it…

Cures cancer
Boosts economic growth
Promotes freedom and liberty

Alas, this is why everybody knows who got traded to New York, but doesn’t know what the national debt is as a percent of GDP.

Finally, the financial cost.  Forget the tickets, think of everything ancillary to those tickets.  Parking, food, drink.  You’ll spend more money going to a football game than you will in three nights of clubbing.  But if you take a false pride in a team that you neither own nor play for to the point you pay $250 to wear another man’s jersey, it borders on having a problem.  This kind of spending over the course of a life could very well easily put a kid through college or rapidly amortize your mortgage.

The ultimate point is to realize what professional sports is and isn’t.  Professional sports is entertainment, nothing more.  It is not a religion, it is not a club, it is not a soap opera, it is not a community affair.  It is a group of highly talented athletes executing amazing physical feats that ultimately mean nothing in this world.  Does this mean you shouldn’t watch the occasional game?

No.

Does this mean you should never take your son to see the heroic Twins battle against the hated Red Sox?

No.

But if you take a personal, psychological, or emotional vested interest in whether one group of guys throw the orange sphere into the ring better than another group of guys, then you are already down the road to a Blue and Green psychopathy.

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