Image via Complex Original
We all love watching sports. That's presumably why you're here. It's the one thing separating us from the animals. But there comes a time when you should come first. For example, all of the time. At the point where your fandom is interfering with any and every facet of your life, then it's time to take back the control you hadn't realized you lost. Life as a never ending Buffalo Wild Wings commercial is a fate worse than having a cinder block dropped on your nuts. You're constant giddiness over the success of others should be a fraction of your personality. Not the entire thing. The only thing worse would be pushing those away because sports are your everything.
We understand (to an extent). Like a bad girlfriend, or an agonzing job, sports can stress you the 'f' out. Their original intent to distract has spiraled out of control and turned many a fan into little Ike Turners. You may not realize what you are, but all the signs are there. If you've ruined every relationship you've ever had because Bill Buckner made an error than you're insane. But, there's always redemption. These are 10 Signs Your Sports Obsession Is Ruining Your Social Life.
You can't watch games in crowds.
Have you ever watched a big football game in the midst of a crowd that thinks a substitution for basic sports knowledge is volume? Every two-yard gain is a reason to cheer. Every penalty is a reason to fake flip shit at the refs. A majority of the attending "fans" don't know the names of the players, and those that do say stupid things.
For example, let's say you're a Niners fan and when Kaepernick threw that pick in the Super Bowl a guy (who couldn't read an eyeroll) walked up next to you and said, in all seriousness, "Why did we ever bench Smith?" You put your head in your hands as you contemplate why you didn't watch the game at home, alone, with the door locked and the shades drawn. When the commercials come on a woman shouts "Okay, everybody quiet!" as they all laugh at a joke you saw coming from a mile away.
Flash forward to Week 1 this year, you're invited by the same group to a bar to watch the Niners play the Packers. After not identifying the call on caller I.D., you politely decline the invite. Congrats, you've allowed obnoxious (but very nice) fans to turn you into a shut-in.
You're irritable because you get less sleep, regularly waking early on weekends to watch European soccer matches.
America still isn't embracing soccer, and it's going to be at least another generation until there's anything, even slightly competitive, with what they got in Europe. Things are getting better though, you can now occassionally catch Premier League games on your American TV. The only problem is, those start times aren't built with you in mind. It's like being an east coast Monday Night Football fan, except way more extreme. Now you're not only riding the highs and lows that go with imitating soccer hooliganism, but you're grouchier than a homeless muppet. And the first dude that gets on your tits today is going to find out, Zidane-style.
Your mood on the weekend (and really, every other day) is entirely dictated by the outcomes of games you're irrationally invested in.
Every fan's been there. A tough loss that your squad could've easily won. You sort through every simple mistake your team made. A dropped catch. A wide-open shot missed. A mental lapse in the midst of a key situation. They should've won the game, but in the end your boys blew it.
But have you ever for a second wondered why you give a damn? Has life become so empty that we have to look forward to fall weekends, or the postseason? These are people we don't know, representing laundry. This isn't an epiphany we're having where we realize we hate sports. But it's an existential question we've pondered when screaming obscenities at a TV because some guy missed a field goal. There's no lamer reason to be a buzzkill than saying "They blew it," before sighing loudly.
Your friends don't want to go out with you because you think that a team jersey and matching sweatpants are suitable club attire.
We've made our opinions known about adults repping their team with another man's jersey. Our opinion wasn't too popular, but sometimes the majority's on the wrong side of history. Still, if you're going to rep a guy personally, relegate it to the stadium, or in front of the TV on the couch (though, that doesn't make any sense).
Taking it out and about is a bridge too far. What is your goal when you hit the club or bar scene? A slim chance at stranger poon. But chances got even more slim because YOU GOT ANOTHER GUY'S NAME STITCHED ON YOUR BACK! Seriously, bro. Nothing impresses a girl like another guys name plastered on your back. She's probably wondering what he's doing tonight as opposed to the schmo wearing his knockoff work uniform. You might as well get his name tattooed on you, because that's the slippery slope you've opted to go down.
Your need for a foul ball showed your true colors.
We're not sure if it's happening more often, or if the media is just reporting it more. But it's come to our attention that adults snag balls from youngsters, presumably ruining their first (and possibly last) experience with America's pastime. But can you really sit comfortably in your seat when the whole section watched you pancake a kid? Ask Steve Bartman what his lust for a $9 piece of a cows ass did for his (social) life. The only thing on par is bailing from a screaming liner, to let it rock your GF.
You burned down an awesome dinner-date spot with other rioters because your team won the Finals.
There's no better way to show citywide pride than destroying a small section of it. And that's the entirely appropriate way to celebrate a long hard season filled with ups and downs. Nothing shouts "champion" like an arsonist. And really there are no bigger fans than arsonists. But when you burn down the nicest affordable restaurant in town, then who looks stupid now? Only when your dinner reservations go up in smoke (along with a hardworking family's hopes and dreams) will you realize that you've been a real heel.
Constant eating and drinking of unhealthy crap at sporting events has you looking like Pizza the Hut.
Let's face it, the ballpark ain't exactly stocking produce like Whole Foods. You can become an absolute blimp by indulging your foodhole with a $70 Dallas pizza. Or you could clog a Yankee Stadium toilet with a bucket of sliders and a pound of french fries for $20. Do it enough and you'll be having to pay for two overpriced seats instead of one. We didn't create this shallow society that we live in. But when you're wearing a tarp, and pants best fit for an orca then it's time to walk (or roll yourself) around the block instead of to the stadium. What's the tipping point? 100 lbs. short of this.
Your pickup line is "Did you see the game last night?"
If the answer is "yes," followed by a detailed breakdown of man coverage versus zone then, shit, it's time to bail anyway. The majority of women probably are no more interested in talking sports with you, than you are breaking down fashion, celebrities, or gossip and stupid crap. When it's time to break the ice and you ask about "the game," it just means you're out of practice. Too much time on the couch watching ESPN will do that to a man. Figure a way out of it, or become all too familiar with names like Priya Rai and Rachel Starr.
Casual conversations turn into shout fests over whose team is better.
Like two partisan boneheads, nobody wants to get between a pair of diehards who use sports as an outlet for anger. There's no better sign of an empty life than getting worked up over the accomplishments of others. It's entertainment, not fodder for an argument that ends with a lead pipe up an ass.
A conversation over who the best QB in the NFC West is becomes a shove. A shove becomes a punch and before long you are squabbling with a police officer between you like a white trash couple on Cops. Your anger scares the shit out of people and it could explain why the phone has stopped vibrating. Under extreme circumstances this can lead to...
You're literally dead or in prison because you went to a sporting event.
Casual fighting can lead to casual murdering. Especially in the state of California. This past week, a Dodgers fan was stabbed to death after a game in San Francisco in a rivalry that's becoming less friendly, and more Hatfield-McCoy-like, by the season. Remember Bryan Stow, the Giants fan who was sent to a coma after a beating he received in the Chavez-Ravine parking lot? When you're a fan who literally kills for his team we can't question your dedication. But you're an asshole and nobody wants to hang out with you.
That's relatively tame compared to soccer rioting. Good lord, have these fans not been civilized? The Romans in the Colosseum watched slaves and captured soldiers get torn apart by lions, but at least they stayed in their fucking seats.
