Insults and sports are adjoined at the hip; at an average game you can hear jeers from an opposing crowd, ‘smack talk’ amongst players, and the occasional coach’s outburst towards referees. Thus, it is not a surprise that an adversarial aura carries over to the fans themselves. Barbs traded at your typical sports bar range from gentle jabs about a team’s latest loss, to deeply personal attacks about one’s appearance, masculinity, and supposed sexual orientation. However, within a fan’s arsenal therein lies an insult so potent that it must only be brought out in times of pure desperation; ‘fair-weather fan’. An insult so crude that a misfire is apt to turn a sleepy Applebee’s into a wild west saloon; complete with fisticuffs and being launched through set of swing doors.
The potency in ‘fair-weather fan’ extends beyond its suggestion that an opponent’s loyalty is fickle, rather, it pierces through to someone’s soul, speaking to their ability to remain steadfast in the face of adversity, being a fair-weather fan implies that you didn’t earn a seat at the table; you have eschewed years of heartbreak in favor of a quick and easy thrill. In simpler terms, seeing a team through times of feast and famine bolsters your credibility because; it just means more to be a real fan. It means nothing to hop on the bandwagon.
If the relationship between a team’s performance and meaning were to be measured mathematically and arranged linearly one a scale from one to ten, I’d probably fall squarely between fifteen and twenty. A state of perpetual disappointment that derives from my loyalty to my Alma Mater’s team; the Portland Pilots. An obsession that has persisted despite the rise of NIL and the transfer portal all but dashing the Pilot’s ability to consistently take steps forward, and that will be the cause of my untimely demise.
My obsession with the Pilots began during the 2022 Phil Knight Innovational. A tournament that for functioning members of society has been forgotten, but for me looms in my psyche as the moment in which I first knew what it means to be a true fan. Of course, the Pilots did not win the tourney, losing the opening match versus the University of North Carolina and the final game against Michigan State, earning their only victory against Xavier in the second round. However, despite this I began to derive meaning not from the objective reality of a slightly above par performance. Rather, I became intoxicated with how close we were to beating two ranked teams in four days. Becoming transfixed as to the thought of what would it have been like if we beat two ranked teams in four days. A craving that has become an addiction to the scant possibility of an upset and witnessing history unfold.
In the years since then, my craving for a historic upset has yet to be satisfied-the Pilots came agonizingly close a few days ago against St. Mary’s but once again reality reared its head and dashed my hopes that we would shock the world. Thankfully I can find solace in the fact that each loss accrues additional meaning to each win, with every ‘could-have been’ and ‘but-for’ further increasing the all consuming potency of victory.
Currently, I am transfixed at the thought the of most potent victory imaginable; the one in a million chance that the Pilots will finally pull off an upset against Gonzaga. An incredibly scant possibility that would truly outweigh years of heart break and wash away years of anguish- finally granting me a moment where I can finally jeer back at the bluebloods, sneer, and proudly state it just means more to not be a bandwagon fan. But, if this doesn’t happen I am content to suffer as I cannot imagine falling for fairer weather-as it wouldn’t mean anything anyway.