The First Win

Despite a rare opportunity to see "My Team" live, I found myself rooting against them at the very end.

We took our sports seriously when we were kids. We lived and died on every play. Growing up in New York, each Yankees win or loss was fodder for the next day at school, determining whether or not we’d get to brag or have to take the taunts from our Mets fan friends.

We had a different kind of passion when we were younger. As you get older, you still care, but each win or loss isn’t as important. We still love those special moments that only sports could provide, but one day it happens; a regular season game isn’t appointment television anymore.

Growing up, going to a baseball game was a treat. We were a regular family who might take a trip to Yankee Stadium a couple times a year and maybe one or two other times if someone had extra tickets.

As I get older, my sports fandom tree gets pruned a bit more every year. I follow my teams (Yankees, Packers, and Knicks) and know how they are doing, but I can’t say that I even watch the majority of games anymore. I’ve never been the type of fan whose mood was dictated by a win or a loss; that’s even more so now. The Yankees suffered through one of the most boring seasons in my lifetime—and, I lived through the Stump Merrill years—and it didn’t bother me. I went to one game and had a great time, but even a loss didn’t dampen the good time with friends. Sure, I still have my opinions, but the level of passion I had as a teenager is gone.

Responsibilities are part of it; the importance of sports does fade a bit. In my youth, I loved and consumed it all. I was obsessed with the Yankees. Followed Brett Favre to every team he went to while still rooting for the Packers. The Knicks were an every night watch.

But, a live game as a kid growing up?

It was an event.

It was a celebration of your fandom.

You got to see the superstars live; they always looked bigger than they did on television.

It started with walking up to the Stadium, hearing the crowd buzz in, listening to the always present crowd funny guy yell out ridiculous comments. It was the colors that popped in person, more so than they could on any television. It was the conversations in the stands with my father and brother. And, of course, it was getting to watch these amazing athletes perform in person.

As a kid, you appreciate all of that through the lenses of awe and excitement. As you get older, you look back and realize that it was all about the people you were with, not the result of the game. You wish that you could have all of those conversations back, those moments when Dad would point out a guy out of position or how the relay was executed perfectly.

These days, heading to live games has become more rare.

But, that feeling of being in a stadium never leaves you, even as a 48-year-old. That level of sports excitement matches the passion of youth.

Last Monday night, I was invited by a good friend to see the New York Giants play the Green Bay Packers. As a long time Packers fan, I’ve only gotten to see them play in-person one other time. So, I was excited to accept the invitation.

After a tailgate that was like a 12 course meal, we headed across the parking lot and to the stadium. That walk to the stadium with everyone filing in instantly brought me back to that feeling as a kid.

The buzz was most definitely there, with “Italian” music and food everywhere courtesy of New York’s best story this year, Tommy DeVito. Some people had costumes on, others painted their faces. The typical “funny guy” was also there, yelling a lot of ridiculous things having to do with chicken cutlets. Once we got in, it became apparent that there were quite a few Green Bay fans. For that type of mix in New York, one would think it would be a contentious night.

It wasn’t at all. Fans cheered, made fun of each other, and were into a great game. My Father always hid me from the ugliness of a crowd at a live sporting event as a kid; I’d see it quite a bit in my adult life. But, this crowd was different. It was all cheering about the game.

Around halftime, we began talking to a group of Giants fans behind us. One cluster had a 12-year-old with his Father and Uncle.

The kid was so into the game, living and dying on each play. I looked back a couple of times after my team made a play and I saw what 12-year-old me probably looked like in 1987 at a Yankees’ game, living and dying on every play.

The kid’s fandom is pure. He screamed for every play. Booed the referees when they made a call against his team. He’s living in a magical time as Tommy DeVito has helped inject life into his team’s season by leading the team to two consecutive wins heading into Monday night.

For most of the game, it looked like the Giants were going to win; the kid would see his first win.

But, this is sports. It is rarely that easy. And, the Giants have rarely made anything easy this year.

Green Bay got a few generous calls and scored in the 4th quarter with a little over a minute left in the game to put them up 22-21. I looked back at the kid.

He was crushed.

He wasn’t crying or anything, which made me like this kid even more. He was sports-crushed. His team looked like they were going to betray him yet again. He was a mixture of angry and sad, a combination that all young sports fans have felt. I felt that way as a kid and only one other time in my adult life, 2001 when the Yankees lost the World Series to the Diamondbacks. I knew exactly how that kid felt.

Tommy DeVito had different plans. I sort of had the feeling too. When you’re older and have seen so many games, you get this feeling that something special may happen. I had that feeling. Plus, I knew the Packers’ defense has been terrible this year.

“Hey kid, this isn’t over.”

The kid looked at me and gave a half smile.

Devito hit a pass. Then another.

I found myself rooting for the Giants. I wanted them to beat the team I have followed for most of my life, a team who I haven’t seen win live either.

With each completed pass, the crowd grew loud; everyone could sense we were watching something special. The kid was standing, his Dad and Uncle pounding his jacket with each play on that final drive.

Sports, man. It still can bring up that emotion all these years later.

DeVito drove the Giants quickly down the field to setup a 37 yard field goal.

The kid was excited, trying to will the kicker, a lot like in the old 1980’s movie Tiger Town where a kid, Alex, believed he was willing Billy Young (played by Roy Scheider) to hit home runs.

“I’m rooting for you, kid.”

I meant it.

Part of the magic of sports is watching young people form the kind of passion for the game that you did. I was rooting for the kid to have this moment. I was rooting for the Father to be able to have this memory with his son and brother. That moment will be uniquely theirs forever.

The kick went through the uprights.

Game over.

Giants win.

I look back and see the Father and Uncle picking up the kid and shaking him up and down.

“You got it, you got it,” said the Uncle.

The surrounding crowd kept high-fiving the kid.

He got his moment that he will never, ever forget.

As we walked back to the car and drove home, I couldn’t help but think about what just happened. My friends, both Giants’ fans, said they were sorry for the loss (they weren’t really sorry). I told them that it didn’t matter because it was one of the best games I’ve ever seen in person.

A great time with friends, the passion of the crowd, the game itself, the DeVito story, and, of course, witnessing a kid’s first win in person was infinitely more important than some last second loss.

And, I think I just found my new—perhaps reinvigorated is a better word—passion in sports. I still love the games and the chase for a championship. I still love all of the news, trades, and signings that come along with it all. But, the passion is now rooted in the relationships that sports creates for me.

It started—and continues to this day—with my Dad and brother. It branched out to my friends. It allows us all to have our talks about “the game” or what’s going on with our team. It allows us to experience things like I experienced that Monday night. And, that will continue forever. That sports tree isn’t dying or being pruned; it’s just growing in a different direction.

Sports will always be rooted in wins and losses, but our passion for it is rooted in something far more important.