If I Were a Football Fan..
I’d probably be sobbing into my Jets game day towel every night, over the NFL lockout, but as it turns out I am no more of a fan than the next girl who’s trying to impress her boyfriend, and that towel was a free give-away.
The opening kick off at my first NFL game found me in the Jets fan shop, trying on hats. I took the cheering to mean total agreement over my choice and sauntered over to the cash register to find out just how much solidarity with thousands would cost me.
“Thirty bucks.”
The man behind the register flashed me a knowing smile, and instead of offering me a bag, ripped the price tag off and handed me the hat. I was impressed, though it didn’t exactly take a well-trained eye to make out a first timer, desperately trying to fit in.
As I made my way towards the stadium, I was casually handed free merch, and by the time I had reached the third level of seating I had been transformed into a super fan- or at least the shell of one. I’d fill the rest of that void with beer at…Seven bucks a pop!
I was pointed to my seat by a meek, middle-aged man whose strategic presence at the bottom of the steps didn’t betray my need for his direction and afforded me a feigned walk of familiarity with my surroundings. I even stopped my ascent periodically to turn around and check in on the game action. I had everyone including myself, sold, and that delusion, along with the excitement of the just barely sober crowd, began to work on my adrenaline. I settled into my chair and noted with some surprise that I was genuinely glad to be there.
This must have been what people meant by the magic of football; that special something that’s propelled it to America’s favorite sport. An organization whose recent inability to come to an agreement on the overall split of the revenue between the owners and players will likely result in a substantial blow to the economy.
But as I look back on my day spent at the game, I can’t help but wonder how this lockout will affect that man behind the cash register, the people at the free merch tables, the beer vendors, and the old men helping proud young girls save face. And while I feel for the player whose passion is to be on that field every season, and even for the owner who’s passion is to make money off the passionate player, my main allegiance remains with the people without whom – it’s not a cliche if it’s true – this billion dollar organization would have inadequate facilities to generate that profit through.
So what say you, millionaires?
Think you can find it in your hearts to agree to a rational split of profits among yourselves, for the sake of the poor schmucks whose livelihood depends on you, the poor schmucks who dedicate their full attention to your sport, and this poor schmuck just trying to spend a Sunday pretending to share her boyfriend’s interests?
—-Joana Ursaciuc
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