In Defense of the Fair-Weather Fan

I grew up in Brooklyn during the Dodgers’ great run, which included their very first World Series victory in 1955. One of my earliest memories was watching them go against the Whiz Kid Phillies in 1950 on our brand new Philco television, which had a cabinet as big as an armoire and a screen smaller than an iPad.

I went to Ebbets Field with my father whenever I could and was considered a good luck charm—it seemed that every game I attended was a classic. I watched Jackie Robinson steal home, Duke Snider climb the wall in center field, right fielder Carl Furillo gun down runners sufficiently misguided as to try to go from first to third, and Don Newcombe record double digit strike outs and a hit tape measure home run in the same game. Once, I witnessed the Dodgers hit three home runs on four pitches in the bottom of the ninth to beat, I think it was the Braves or the Reds, by one run. At eight years old, I was already living and dying with the Dodgers’ fortunes, knew each player’s strengths and weaknesses, and could quote statistics along with the adults.

When the Dodgers left in 1958, I was distraught and have loathed Walter O’Malley deeply and profoundly ever since. (Although four years ago, Nancy and I did what he had done and moved to California.) Five years later in 1962, when the Mets were born—or, after 120 losses, sort of stillborn—my passion was rekindled. I dove in as if the Dodgers had been re-incarnated, got to revel in the 1969 miracle, and watched Kiner’s Korner religiously.

I did not restrict myself to baseball. I was a basketball fanatic as well. With some friends, I snuck into the famous Knicks-Lakers seventh game in 1970. In those days, if you took an old ticket stub and handed it to the attendant with a $20 bill under it, he’d let you in. You had to find a place to sit, of course, and for that game, my buddies and I sat in an aisle, literally, just behind the expensive seats—and Robert Redford and his then-wife Lola. There must have been five thousand non-ticketholders in the Garden. We were on the same side as the passageway from the Knicks’ locker room, and suddenly the entire place erupted. We looked to the side and there was Willis Reed limping on to the court. It was so loud that if you looked closely, you could see the baskets shake.

Then an incredible thing happened. The Lakers stopped their warmups to turn to see what was happening. Every single person in the Garden knew in that moment that the Knicks would win, which they did.

I was, in short, the elemental fan.

I am, alas, no longer. I still watch and still root but without the old fanaticism. In fact, if I’m watching the Mets, Jets, Giants, Knicks, or any other team I fancy, and they start to do badly, unless it’s a playoff or special in some way, I generally turn it off, check the progress of the game on my computer and will only turn it back on if they start to do better.

I have become that which I used to hold in contempt.

A fair-weather fan.

There are reasons for my descent, the most obvious being that I’m, well, old. In addition, although it may be a corollary to the first, sports just doesn’t occupy the same place in my life. There seem to be so many other things on which to spend my time, things that, if I’m honest with myself, I would rather be doing. At some point, I must have realized that devoting hour after hour to watching sports wasn’t worth it—that it was repetitive, even boring. (The interminable ads that are now part of every game do not help.)

I have no regrets. Those endless hours as a spectator were wasted, precious moments given over to endless games that often simply ran together.

At first, there was a bit of withdrawal. How do I fill the time, even wasted time? Maybe especially wasted time. But I soon came to realize that doing something myself was far better than watching someone else

It was liberating. (How I used my newly discovered freedom is as personal to me as it would be to anyone else. Suffice to say that I am more productive, proud to have broken a bad habit, and just plain happier.)

Which brings me to politics.

In the run-up to the November election—which seemed to begin in 2021—Nancy and I, political beings and involved citizens that we are, watched the news, mostly cable, often two and three hours at a time, one show after another, focusing on CNN, which seemed more even-handed and less shrill than MSNBC or the unspeakable Fox. I read the newspaper, mostly the Washington Post, New York Times, and Wall Street Journal, taking in most of the op-eds for added depth. I also spent time on seemingly insightful websites, like Politico, The Hill, The Bulwark, and Larry Sabato’s Crystal Ball.

I won’t lie—I was especially drawn to outlets that reinforced my opinion, which I expressed repeatedly in this column, that the nation could not possibly have sunk so low, become so ignorant, so greedy, so lacking in empathy, that it would elect Donald Trump.

Nancy and I died during Trump’s first debate with Joe Biden and then were exultant when it seemed that Kamala Harris had grown into her candidacy. I distrust polls but, hey, if they said Harris was going to win…

Then, of course, came the sad truth that the country had indeed sunk so low, become so ignorant, so greedy, and so lacking in empathy as to put the most detestable human being ever to run for the office back in the White House.

I instantly realized the only way to survive the next four years…and maybe a good deal longer than that…was to change my habits. As a result, I have not tuned on CNN or MSNBC since November 5, nor have I read a single op-ed, looked at a poll, or viewed a political website. I have not heard Donald Trump’s voice and almost never have seen him, even still photographs.

Would I have made these changes if Harris had won? Almost certainly not.

I have again become a fair-weather fan.

Oddly, I have found that quantity ain’t quality and that I am just as well informed now as I was before. Maybe more so. I have restricted myself to hard news, which I still get from the Times, the Post, and the Journal, but have added foreign outlets, such as BBC and France 24. Their coverage of American politics is excellent and I’ve gotten a more nuanced global perspective than watching CNN repeat the same stories all night, changing only the hosts and talking heads who, I can now clearly see, pretty much always said nothing. Again, it is vital to emphasize that none of what I eliminated was actually telling me anything I had not or could not learn while restricting my intake.

Cutting out all the blather presented the same problem as limiting sports intake. At first, there was a bit of withdrawal. How do I fill the time? But, as with sports, with a little bit of imagination, it proved to be not much of a problem at all.