Unbridled enthusiasm. Cosmo Kramer may indeed have put it best – may have summed up everything that new cities and new fans feel when they are awarded an expansion franchise. This enthusiasm, in turn, breeds a kind of uncontrollable excitement among the denizens of the selected city.
There is the excitement of finding out the new team’s name and then getting to see the unveiling of its sleek new logo. Bulky men awkwardly pose at downtown ceremonies in uniforms that don’t quite fit them. Grown men in suits squeeze tiny baseball caps around their balding heads. Streamers and confetti fill the air with equal parts jubilation and determination. The community can finally rally around something other than the nightly news.
There’s something about a clean slate that titillates the imagination. Something satisfying about knowing that you haven’t done anything wrong yet (never mind that you haven’t done anything right yet, either).
The great unknown, and the slow process that defines what a franchise is all about begins to take shape slowly in the form of t-shirts, jerseys, hats and jackets – all worn with pride in the grace period between day one and game-day. Without a history written in the form of wins and losses, the only history of the franchise is written across the brows and backs of the local yokels looking for anything at all to latch on to.
Maybe this feeling is na‹ve, and it is no doubt somewhat shortsighted, but what if John Lennon was wrong? What if love isn’t all you need? What if you also need a sense of unbridled enthusiasm to go along with that love?
It is asking fans to believe in something that they can’t see. It is asking for faith, and while placing an emotional investment into an unknown future is nothing short of a religious experience, the rewards far outweigh the risks.
Recently, I was immersed in such unbridled enthusiasm. In 1999, the city of Houston was awarded the 32nd NFL franchise, and this season, the Houston Texans took the field for the very first time.
One sweltering Sunday afternoon this past August, the Texans opened their newly completed, $450 million retractable dome stadium to the public for a free, unguided tour. I was home in Houston at the time and was lucky enough to get tickets to this uncharacteristically fan-friendly event.
Keep in mind that there was absolutely no sporting event to take place, no professional athlete within a five mile radius, and absolutely nothing on the line – just structural steel, glass windows and a few unfinished goalposts.
What I saw when I arrived at the stadium astounded me. Thirty thousand die-hard fans strong – roughly the total attendance of an entire Expos’ home-stand – had shown up. And there I was, another insignificant part of an amorphous mass of humanity, slowly winding its way up the countless concrete ramps to the main concourse.
When I finally made it inside, most people were sitting leisurely in the lower level seats, eyes wide, trying to soak it all in. These are seats, keep in mind, that they will never come close to sitting in again on a Sunday afternoon, when there’s a game that will actually mean something.
That Sunday may have been meaningless, but you couldn’t tell it from the half-priced jumbo hot dogs lines that were still fifteen patrons long. Fans sat contently, chomping away on traditional stadium fare, gazing out over the mammoth stadium, happy just to be there, happy to be staring out at nothing.
When the something that we had all been waiting for finally filled the stadium on opening night, the tremendous fan response was to be expected. Three-and-a-half hour traffic delays, all-day tail-gaiting and body painting were just the beginning. Some fans who couldn’t get tickets to the games bought season parking tickets just so that they could be close to the action. All the fun of the NFL with none of the hassles of PSL’s!
Three years of blind faith culminating in one magical night. The scene could not have been set more perfectly. The cross state rivals (and always hated) Dallas Cowboys were in town, and the crowd was deafening to the point of ear-piercing pain. The Cowboys were hurting on offense, and Houston was gunning for them on defense.
From the opening play of the game to the final tick of the clock, the Texans dominated, winning the showdown 19-10. An expansion franchise had not won its first game in over 40 years. Even my mother, who doesn’t know a naked boot-leg from a tight end, was won over and is now a self-proclaimed fan.
And that’s the point. Don’t be bogged down by the details. Believe in a team because of what they stand for, who they are. Believe in what you can’t see, what has yet to happen. It may be infinitely more difficult than rationalizing your fanship or hopping on the next bandwagon that rolls through town, but in the end, it’s worth it.
It’s the fans who give birth to a team, so be a good parent. It’s an unreasonable love. An unconditional love. It’s a love without end. Amen.