For those who believe the end of the the world is coming in 2012, think again.
The world actually ended at 10 p.m. on Wednesday, Jan. 5, when the Canadian junior national hockey team allowed five straight goals in the third period of the World Junior championship game to give Russia a 5-3 victory.
Chairs were thrown, four-letter words were screamed and tears flowed as freely as the Molson Canadian from the overworked bartenders’ taps as hockey fans young and old attempted to find comfort at the bottom of empty pint glasses. It was, to put it mildly, a scene of complete and utter devastation – as if the world had just ended.
And it was this world that I left as soon as I stepped out the doors of the Georgetown Pub in Old Ottawa South, breathed in the crisp night air, and realized that everything was going to be just fine. Life as I know it would continue, I would still have a roof to sleep under that night, a job to go to the next day, and a TV on which I could watch replays of that dastardly third period over and over again.
Yes, everything was going to be just fine. I just wish I could say the same for the masses of heartbroken casualties left in the pub behind me.
But it should come as no surprise. Nowadays, it’s becoming harder to differentiate sports fandom from real life. Stories of diehard fans doing anything to prove their loyalty are all too common, such as the man who tattooed “I Slept with Shaq” on his forehead, as are instances of victory or defeat induced chaos, such as the 1971 soccer riot in Scotland that killed 66 people.
It’s not just in Europe either, where soccer challenges Catholicism for religious fervour, but right in our own home and native land, where one puck in the right or wrong net can have police preparing for a long night ahead.
Of course, isn’t that what every team wants? For its fan base to be rabidly loyal enough to follow it through seasons of plenty and seasons of want (see: fans, Toronto.)
Is that not the reason for sports in the first place, to appeal to an inner pride in all of us that only comes out to play when our team does?
The truth is, when you peel away the façade of cleverly crafted team merchandise and highlight reels of your favourite players, spectator sports are a business.
Plain and simple, it is a major part of the entertainment industry that pulls in billions of dollars from consumers every year. Advertisers know it. Teams and athletes know it. Lebron James held an hour-long special on ESPN this summer to announce his free agency decision because he knows it. In fact, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that the only ones who don’t know it’s a business are the fans themselves.
That’s why Cleveland Cavaliers diehards took to the streets this summer, burning LeBron James jerseys after their hometown hero decided to take his talents to South Beach. That’s why riot police patrol the Chicago Transit Red Line, making sure drunken Cubs fans don’t venture south into White Sox territory to cause trouble and vice versa. And yes, that’s why people sob uncontrollably in a bar after a group of 19-year-olds lose a hockey game.
It’s the ugly business side of a beautiful thing.
Sport is and always has been the epitome of competition, hard work, pride, and as the 22 young men who represented Canada earlier this month know so well, pain. People should sympathize, but not empathize. Because when it comes down to it, sport is just a game. It’s not real life.
Real life starts when you walk out those bar doors and realize that this time, the world isn’t over. This time, everything is going to be just fine.