For most of my life, I could not understand why anyone would hitch his or her identity to the win-loss record of a professional sports team.
Sports fans, you’d call them.
Fanatics, I’d say. Lunatics, I’d say after a glass of wine, but only if my dad wasn’t within earshot.
“Those players don’t care about us,” I’d tell friends and relatives. “They don’t know our names. They don’t care how much money we have to spend on tickets to see them. And even if they win everything, we will get up the next morning to the same old life we had before we cheered them on to victory.”
I was so superior.…