Gut feeling

I have never been literally punched in the gut. For this, I'm thankful. You see, I have a feeling that my gut is probably the fragile sort and would not respond well to any sort of physical abuse. After taking one hit, said gut would probably curl up in the fetal position, praying silent prayers for its safety.

Unfortunately, I have taken figurative blows to the gut on several occasions, the most recent of which came last night when the Nebraska Cornhuskers ran past the Kansas State Wildcats on their way a 35-point victory. Through the years I've learned that the fetal position does little to help in said situations.

I have often (probably far too often) used this space to detail certain aspects of collegiate or professional teams that I root for. There have been optimistic looks at hopes for struggling baseball teams (which typically prove fruitless) and running logs of my thoughts during football games (which typically prove uninteresting to anyone that is not a future version of myself). There have been countless hours devoted to attempting to keep up with everything these teams do, even if the team is just inviting a high school recruit to come watch a game. One fact remains: these are games.

Sure, Thursday night's K-State-Nebraska came was a battle of unbeatens. It was a match-up that involved the Cornhuskers attempting to show the nation that they are certainly a Top-10 team, while the Wildcats wanted to show that they deserve a spot in the Top 25. It even served as an historic occasion, as - thanks to Nebraska's decision to ditch their Big 12 brethren for annual trips to Pennsylvania Dutch Country - it marked possibly the final time that the two programs would ever meet on a football field.

The result was one that pained those for whom purple is a permanent wardrobe fixture. Nebraska quarterback Taylor Martinez found more open field than a traveler who takes a wrong turn in Western Kansas and the K-State defenders pursuing him seemed to be reenacting every slow-motion sequence that has ever taken place in film. Nebraska scored and scored. Fans clad in red (far too many of them) cheered endlessly in the stadium named for the Wildcats' head coach, and K-State fans held their guts in disgust. (Or as the result of disgust-fueled drinking.)

The loss hurt. Most do. Thanks to the stoicism from my dad credits to our Swedish heritage, I typically maintain a pretty even keel; never excited to the point of mindless screaming (whew), but never mad to the point of turning green and yelling self-narrations like "Hulk smash!" Yet, some of the most frustrating moments of my life have come as the result of numbers on a scoreboard. My brother-in-law still insists that the angriest he has seen me was after K-State's loss to Ohio State in the Fiesta Bowl in early 2004. I was mad about the loss. I was mad about obnoxious Buckeye fans sitting next to me. I was even angry about the ignorant folks sitting behind me who apparently had never seen football before. I was peeved, miffed, fed up, steamed, et cetera. I was this worked up, all about a game.

Why can sports seem so important? There have been plenty of events in my life that have certainly been more important than anything that takes place on a field or a court, and several happenings that have served far more severe (figurative) kidney punches. Such punches are the type that can make you truthfully fear what could be ahead. They can make you wonder how life could be so cruel. They are also the moments in life that can lead one to truly being thankful and appreciative for all they have been blessed with. Such moments trump anything sports can offer. For this, I will accept no debates.

We've determined that, in the grand scheme of all that comprises life, sports don't really matter. (Yes, it apparently took seven paragraphs to reach that mind-blowing conclusion... I'm a little slow.) Why bother with sports when they can leave you curse-mutteringly mad (the author's angry state) but ultimately hold the same importance as your decision to buy one or two Crunchwrap Supremes at Taco Bell? I think I've answered my own question.

We're a society that lives for living vicariously. Through movies, television, books and video games we're largely wrapped up in the successes (Way to save the brake plant, Tommy Boy!) and failures (Stomped by Bowser again? C'mon Mario!) of others. Sports serve as a way feel like a part of that success. You can read so much about an athlete that you feel like you know him or her. You can purchase apparel to match that of your team. You can memorize stats and schedules. If you're loaded with cash, you can even purchase tickets so close to the action that an athlete might steal your popcorn. Essentially, you can get so wrapped up in a team that it honestly feels like its performance affects yours, (I know there have been days that I've gone to work with a smile solely because of the numbers on a scoreboard the night before) and yet, it really doesn't matter.

A sports fan* can be exuberant with victories and devastated with losses, but (as long as said fan is mentally stable) their lot in life is unaffected. When your favorite baseball team loses 100 games in a season, your job is still safe. When your favorite football team wins as often as a Keno player who can't count higher than five, your family still accepts you. When your favorite basketball team drops a game thanks to shooting free throws as accurately as a cross-eyed goat, life moves on. Sure, the punches hurt, but they can be forgotten.

*Please note, this refers to loyal sports fans only. Fair-weather fans cannot be invested in this sort of manner... They also don't have souls.

Do I take sports too seriously at times? Absolutely. Could I imagine things any other way? No chance. Sure, I've been reminded far too many times throughout my 20+ years as a competent* sports fan that the figurative shots to the gut hurt, but there's always hope for tomorrow (even if your head coach regularly uses phrases like very confirmed )... Plus, figuratively, I can take a beating.

*Usage of this adjective is up for debate.