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A jilted Texans fan comes back for more pain
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All I wanted to do was drive.
It was 4 p.m. last Sunday. The sun was starting to set, creating a slight orange glow over the drab Houston skyline. I was zooming along I-10, heading west toward who knows where.
It didn’t really matter at that point. I just wanted to drive far, far away. Away from my house, from the TV, from the computer, away from everything.
Half an hour later, I found myself at the Galleria, walking along the hoards of high school kids and 20-somethings, dazed and confused. I wasn’t interested in buying anything, but again, it didn’t really matter. As long as I could take my mind off of things, it was alright.
And then, as I walked past a sports bar near the food court, it hit me. There they were, the “highlights” of the Houston Texans blowing another winnable game, the sight of yet another Texans opponent celebrating a game they had no business winning.
I couldn’t avoid it any longer.
You non-sports fans will never know what it’s like to follow a mediocre football team.
Football is the most unique of all American sports. Unlike basketball or baseball, where games are a dime a dozen, football games are their own singular events. Fans spend an entire week enduring the drudgery of their everyday lives just for one day of gridiron bliss.
Even though I lived in Austin at the time, I always had an affinity for Houston-area sports teams - the Rockets of the Dream and Clyde the Glide era, the Astros with Bagwell and Biggio, even those old Oilers teams with Warren Moon. So it was no surprise that I caught on to the Texans from the moment they arrived on the football scene in 2002.
Almost immediately, Texans games became the highlight of my week. Sure, they lost more than they won, but it was still a delight just to have a team to call my own.
For the past seven years, they’ve given me something to take my mind off of midterm exams, final project deadlines and readers who dog me for how negative my articles are.
Now, though, the delight is gone. After watching the Texans struggle for seven years, all I feel is anger.
What’s it all for? Well, it’s the elation that comes with watching my team win. Seeing my team do well validates all of the time, energy and money I’ve spent following this franchise. It validates the tickets, the merchandise, the countless hours in front of the TV or the radio.
And, more importantly, seeing my team do well gives me something to take my mind off of the other nonsense that I have to deal with in life.
A loss, especially a brutal one, is an instant reminder that, yes, I still have a paper due in 12 hours, that I still need to get my oil changed, etc.
That’s partially why, as I wrote two weeks ago, I’ve become disillusioned with the National Football League. Why devote so much time to something that brings me so much anguish now? What good does it do me to watch the Tennessee Titans win another game or to watch those dreaded Dallas Cowboys in yet another primetime showcase?
I keep telling myself that I’m through with the Texans, that this is the week where I finally give them up and find something better to do with those three hours. But each week, I come back for more. I can’t help myself. And next week, I know I’ll be sitting right in front of the television watching my team try to get over the hump.
Why would I subject myself to this again and again, you might ask? Well, I guess if you have to ask that question, then odds are you aren’t much of a sports fan.
It was 4 p.m. last Sunday. The sun was starting to set, creating a slight orange glow over the drab Houston skyline. I was zooming along I-10, heading west toward who knows where.
It didn’t really matter at that point. I just wanted to drive far, far away. Away from my house, from the TV, from the computer, away from everything.
Half an hour later, I found myself at the Galleria, walking along the hoards of high school kids and 20-somethings, dazed and confused. I wasn’t interested in buying anything, but again, it didn’t really matter. As long as I could take my mind off of things, it was alright.
And then, as I walked past a sports bar near the food court, it hit me. There they were, the “highlights” of the Houston Texans blowing another winnable game, the sight of yet another Texans opponent celebrating a game they had no business winning.
I couldn’t avoid it any longer.
You non-sports fans will never know what it’s like to follow a mediocre football team.
Football is the most unique of all American sports. Unlike basketball or baseball, where games are a dime a dozen, football games are their own singular events. Fans spend an entire week enduring the drudgery of their everyday lives just for one day of gridiron bliss.
Even though I lived in Austin at the time, I always had an affinity for Houston-area sports teams - the Rockets of the Dream and Clyde the Glide era, the Astros with Bagwell and Biggio, even those old Oilers teams with Warren Moon. So it was no surprise that I caught on to the Texans from the moment they arrived on the football scene in 2002.
Almost immediately, Texans games became the highlight of my week. Sure, they lost more than they won, but it was still a delight just to have a team to call my own.
For the past seven years, they’ve given me something to take my mind off of midterm exams, final project deadlines and readers who dog me for how negative my articles are.
Now, though, the delight is gone. After watching the Texans struggle for seven years, all I feel is anger.
What’s it all for? Well, it’s the elation that comes with watching my team win. Seeing my team do well validates all of the time, energy and money I’ve spent following this franchise. It validates the tickets, the merchandise, the countless hours in front of the TV or the radio.
And, more importantly, seeing my team do well gives me something to take my mind off of the other nonsense that I have to deal with in life.
A loss, especially a brutal one, is an instant reminder that, yes, I still have a paper due in 12 hours, that I still need to get my oil changed, etc.
That’s partially why, as I wrote two weeks ago, I’ve become disillusioned with the National Football League. Why devote so much time to something that brings me so much anguish now? What good does it do me to watch the Tennessee Titans win another game or to watch those dreaded Dallas Cowboys in yet another primetime showcase?
I keep telling myself that I’m through with the Texans, that this is the week where I finally give them up and find something better to do with those three hours. But each week, I come back for more. I can’t help myself. And next week, I know I’ll be sitting right in front of the television watching my team try to get over the hump.
Why would I subject myself to this again and again, you might ask? Well, I guess if you have to ask that question, then odds are you aren’t much of a sports fan.
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