My Team
By Josh VonGunten
I love going to sporting events. Watching a competition play out right in front of me is one of my favorite things to do. There’s something about the intensity of two sides giving it their all and the unpredictability of how it will end that seems to never get old. I’m totally hooked. Also the unique potential sports have for bringing people together, the way they create a momentary commons for interaction, unity, joy, and of course heartache is such a gift. I was sad when the World Cup ended this summer. I found myself wishing there was some way for it to somehow continue or at least happen more often.
My kids have played soccer for years and going to their games at various stages and levels along the way has provided a lot of fun. And, there have also been some weird, confusing, and dark moments I’ve struggled to make sense of. Like anything with a lot of upside, the potential for downside is real. I’ve spent a couple years now wondering and thinking about what happens at sporting events, the good, bad, and mysterious, and I’ve come to believe there is often much more going on than what fans may realize or be aware of. This will sound a little woo-woo but I’ve come to see sporting events as a context for people to project and express their deepest of emotions and longings, however unknown or disconnected from the actual event they may be.
Not long ago I found myself at a soccer game sitting next to a man I did not know. As fate would have it, our tickets put us side by side. He was all decked out in the gear of the home team. From the moment I laid eyes on him I could tell he was fired up and excited—clearly a serious fan evidenced by jittery body language and responsiveness to every play taking place. At first I found it fun. I like it when people care and get into it. We were rooting for the same team so sitting right next to this stranger made it easier for me to get swept up in the chaotic up and down waves of a super fan.
However, as the game progressed and our team fell behind, the skies and the mood in our aisle darkened. The man next to me became frustrated. Very frustrated. When the opposing team scored and celebrated he angrily chanted, “NOBODY CARES,” in a deep, deafening, throat splitting roar as the announcer gave modest credit for the goal. From this moment on, with 20 minutes left in the game, it seemed to me this man was not having fun. He was visibly agitated and incensed. He gasped with disgust. He raised his hands in exacerbation. He moaned and shook his head in disbelief. At max volume he hurled classic lines at the center ref: “YOU’RE TERRIBLE” “YOU’RE BLIND” “YOU’RE A CLOWN” “YOU’RE AN IDIOT” “YOU’RE A JOKE.”
As the game slipped away from our team and the yelling increased, the vibe in our section became nervous and uneasy. The elegance and uplift of the beautiful game vanished. The bitterness of losing took over and hung in the air. Right along with it there was a cynical suspicion that the ref, not the skill or good fortune of the other team, had decided the game.
I left the game that night amazed and curious about what had just happened. How did a setting with so much potential for fun, connection, and beauty become so uncomfortable because of one man’s behavior? He seemed to have absolutely no idea several of us nearby were bummed out by how he was acting. Actually, if I may speculate a little, it seemed to me he felt justified in his actions as if he was playing his part or doing his job as a fan. This made me wonder, to what extent have I unknowingly made the people around me feel that way before? To what extent does the very nature of passion and loyalty to a team blind us to how we come across to others?
As I’ve grown increasingly intrigued about dynamics around sporting events and team identity, I’ve turned to a few thinkers who have done considerable research in this field and have written books seeking to tease out the complicated emotional dynamics inherent to identity and competition. I’ve been making notes on this subject with hopes of better understanding what’s at play. I’d like to feel more grounded as I approach the fall sports season. I want to rediscover and double down on the joy of sports especially in situations that can be particularly tricky when it comes to the diversity of emotions present in the stands. I write this post not as an authority or role model delivering answers but as a seeker—someone who is trying to ask questions, create dialogue, and work out what I think. I’m trying to better understand the terrain so that I might anticipate how and why things get weird and what I can do about it.
In what follows I’ll share a little bit of what I’ve learned from 3 scholars on this topic and I’ll try to connect their thinking in a way that has been helpful for me. Lastly I’ll share 5 practical commitments or practices I’m making for the upcoming season.
In his book, “The Cost of Ambition,” Miroslav Volf notes how modern societies have paved the way for people to feel a nagging and pervading sense of inadequacy. Part of what it means to be alive today is to face a constant pressure that one should always be seen as up to something productive, impressive, or new. Where does this come from? One of the effects of frequent social media use, time online, and the ambient energy of upward mobility is the impression people get that their lives, at present, aren’t exciting or impressive enough. Our reality never seems to rival what we see on the screen or the glory we mistakenly imagine others to be enjoying. For some this feeling of inadequacy inspires a response in the form of a quest for grandiosity, a drive to achieve or be a part of something big and special. This striving sets out to quiet feelings of inadequacy through achievement association with winning. From here it’s not hard to see how identifying with a sports team or political party would easily attract and temporarily soothe the sad parts of us that long to feel adequate.
Naturally, this kind of identification allows us to feel great when our team wins but on the flip side, awful when they lose. Unless our team is always on the rise, which is impossible, the swings are big and we find ourselves caught within an inherently volatile situation. Volf writes, “Every state of equality achieved through competition is unstable. And so our striving to catch up and overtake—and suffering when we fail—continues.”
We find ourselves in a place where we don’t just want to win, we come to feel it as a need. And yet, ironically, winning only provides a moment of relief from the competing swell of inadequacy. Why? Because the logic of this approach means that our rivals are surely moving to overtake us or maybe already have. Rooting our identity or sense of adequacy in a team is incredibly alluring at the start but always gives way to haunting inevitable feelings of inferiority. As Volf said, this is unstable ground we find ourselves on.
Awash in a culture that promotes feelings of inadequacy, what are we to do with this understandable response we have to go searching for a secure identity? In his fascinating book, “Against Identity” Alexander Douglas makes a bold and subversive claim. He persuasively argues that we’re better off quitting the identity game altogether; that by stepping away from associating ourselves at the deepest level with a team, we carve out a new possibility, a way of being that avails itself to the joyful, difficult, and vulnerable way of love. He writes, “Liberation can only come from a model who leads us out of the pursuit of identity altogether.” Instead of making our chosen teams, parties, or camps sources of ultimate identity, he argues for something much more nuanced and nimble. He points at the concept of superdeterminacy, “…a type of being that embraces all identities while being defined by none of them.”
The idea here is to enjoy lots of things and be a part of them in a meaningful way without making any of them ultimate or defining. This idea reminds me of a story. My friend Dan, seeking to illustrate this possibility to a group of kids, showed up to a youth basketball practice he was coaching wearing an Indiana Hoosiers sweatshirt with Michigan Wolverines sweatpants. Predictably the kids were stunned and embarrassed for him. Bro! Cringe. Beyond the obvious aesthetic concerns, this move was inconceivable to them. The outfit provokes the question, but where does your allegiance truly lie? If pressed, which team are you actually for?
To be for two teams at the same time and at the same level is unthinkable to the logic of contemporary identity building. Some will say this casual approach to being a fan will make it less fun or serious. Upon reflection and a little bit of practice, I’m convinced it’s actually a pathway to deeper enjoyment and quite a bit more fun. Setting the intentional goofiness of wearing two opposing logos at the same time aside, what if we were freed to actually appreciate, enjoy, and learn from the merits of the team or group we’re supposed to be against? This would be a loose, open-hearted, and less guarded way of life, right?
Alexander goes on, “…then we could achieve a new sort of peace, both inner and outer. We could flow along with things happily, not worrying about mutating from our spuriously definite selves. We could love others, not because they share an identity with us, but because they are different from us, as we indeed contain difference in ourselves.” Pardon the dated phrase but this is mic drop material here, friends. By refusing to allow a team, ideology or tribe to be ultimate to our identity, we create space for a secure contentment that transcends the typical attachments marked by shaky ground. We also begin to discover new and spacious territory for connecting with others previously seen as “on the other side or team.”
There’s an aspect of this reflection I’ve yet to mention and it may be the one of the more tricky parts to engage with and heal. In whatever ways our team or tribe allegiances become increasingly robust through the active process of being against a particular team or group as an act of loyalty to our own, we’ve come into something complicated. In his eye-opening book, “The Science of Revenge,” James Kimmel shows how the desire for getting even or beating a rival can actually become an addiction.
Using the methods of neuroscience and psychology to examine brain scans and case studies, Kimmel makes a compelling case that our bodies enter into a psychological pain deficit when we face a rival who we perceive to have harmed us, or by proxy, our team. In order to get back to level, to relieve the psychological pain, we seek a way to have the upper hand whether that be a win, put down, or celebration of our foe’s misfortune. The more we traffic in this pain and relief cycle, the more we get hooked and come to actually feel it as a need. All of this begins to click and make sense when you hear wild stories about fans acting out in vicious ways. Clearly there’s far more than just a game taking place when someone is verbally attacking the other team. Here’s a sobering truth, the desire for scoring points against a rival may be powerful enough to temporarily shut down our prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that helps us reason and think through the consequences of what we are doing.
As a Jesus follower I believe there are creative and life-giving connections to be made between the ideas above and His example of radical simplicity. Philippians 2:7 bears witness to the choice Jesus made to “empty himself,” which I believe has fascinating implications for this exploration of sports and identity building. In all kinds of ways, Jesus let go of the various handles he had upon security, definition, and status so that he could occupy the role of a servant and connect with the world on those terms. Jesus didn’t want anything to get in the way of people seeing His love for them so everything that created a barrier had to go.
The kenosis (emptying) gives us a model for what it might look like to let go of our hold upon identity games for the sake of love. This angle might lead us to ask some liberating and challenging questions. For instance, does the sense of home I’m trying to find in a team or tribe become a hindrance to my ability to connect with others? Please hear me, I’m not calling for anything extreme. Don’t burn your jerseys :) I’m calling for something much deeper and I’m convinced, more fulfilling and fun. To start, how might we simply begin to hold our allegiances lightly, realizing them to be less and less a lasting reflection of who we are? Liberated from taking these things so seriously, we’ll begin to see ways to wear the jersey and root for our team from an already secure and settled position, the identity we’ve been given in Christ as people who are forever loved, wanted, and cherished.
Showing up as a person whose identity is rooted in Christ, rather than a team or side, is not easy. This is a way of becoming that takes time, cultivation, and intentionality. It takes practice, which involves failure. In my experience there are days when I notice gains and others when I feel like I’m stumbling backwards. Being curious about where and how I’m playing identity games can be layered and complicated, but it all starts with a simple move of faith, an ask for help, a sense of trust that the Spirit will show us the way forward if we ask. So, here’s to asking for help. Here’s to relaxing in the guiding grace of God. Here’s to believing the Jesus way of letting go is actually better than holding on. And, in letting go we will be carried by the current of grace to build our lives on ground stable, good, and true.
As the fall sports season begins, I’m committing to a handful of practices which I think will help me enjoy the games and have more fun. If like me you find yourself wanting more joy and less tension, I would encourage you to make your own list and share it with a few friends. Here are my commitments:
On my way to games I will center myself with prayer and reflection. I will ask God to guide me into joy and to make me aware of how unresolved conflict or feelings of inadequacy might interplay with the game.
I will cheer for my team with gusto but will avoid yelling at the ref or saying anything against the other team.
If I find myself near a fan who is upset and acting out, if possible, I’ll reposition myself in a different location.
After the game I will celebrate all of the skill and good play I observed from both teams. Win or lose, I will find things to celebrate.
I will accept the outcome of the game and try to avoid a post-game outlook that blames anyone for a result I don’t like.
