COLUMN: Misery, arguments and all, fandom matters

I almost jumped, fully-clothed, into a swimming pool when the Atlanta Falcons drafted Michael Penix Jr. this summer.

Not to swim, mind you, but out of sheer disbelief and borderline humiliation. 

Not to swim, but to drown myself, in a sense.

I was on the outdoor patio — well-equipped with a gargantuan television, cushy chairs and quite a few fans — of the illustrious Joe Kovac Jr., along with The Melody’s managing editor Caleb Slinkard and photographer Jason Vorhees. A veritable who’s who of Bibb County journalism; add Ed Grisamore and we would’ve had a real shindig.

Swarmed by cicadas (by which some were frightened, others amused), we watched the NFL Draft unfold.

When Roger Goodell waltzed up to the microphone and, after that ESPN jingle rang out, spoke Penix’s name, pandemonium ensued. Surrender cobras emerged, hands on heads for myself and Kovac. Caleb and Jason, fans of other NFL teams, ones that had actually made the playoffs the year prior, just about died laughing.

So yes, I briefly considered taking a dip in my Falcons hat and T-shirt as I sprinted around the deck in disbelief. That cool, patented light-blue pool water shimmered — beckoned, even — on a humid summer night of distress.

It’s not a statement I’m proud of. Like many, I’ve obviously cooled down a great deal since the pick that was, at first, called a draft blunder by the masses was announced. I really like Penix. I loved watching him throw to hulking wideout Rome Odunze — the player I actually thought, at the time, the Falcons should have drafted — and dominate opponents with his lefty slingshot throw at Washington.

But my opinion on Atlanta’s newest rookie quarterback is irrelevant. It’s the fact that, because of a draft pick of which the outcome was completely unknowable at the time, I was ready to jump into a pool — that’s what I want to focus on. Being a fan.

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We watch sports to root. We root for teams, players, coaches. We root for them to fly to new heights, or to fail, or to overcome the most difficult odds. It is no secret — we are in it for the narrative, the story that packs the most punch, but we also want our guys to succeed.

Except, we don’t all want that, actually. 

Mike Lough, perhaps Middle Georgia’s longest-tenured sportswriter and surely one of its deepest fonts of athletic knowledge, does not root. 

He said on the way to last year’s GHSA 4A state title game, to which he travelled with myself, Jason and Joe, and which the Perry Panthers ended up winning: he’s just covered too many games to be a fan. He watches simply for the game itself and the stories it has to tell, none of his own interests taking priority, even when he is not viewing an event in a journalistic capacity.

Famed Sports Illustrated writer Jeff Pearlman posted a video on social media recently entailing his experience as a sportswriter at the highest level. “If you do this right,” he says, speaking about journalism into the camera at the behest of a fan who asked about how his perspective changed during his career, “you don’t root.”

“You see all the warts.”

Regardless of how you feel about Pearlman and his reputation, he’s got undeniable journalistic ability and street cred. But I still can’t fathom that — not having a favorite team, a favorite player.

It must be said that I’m a far cry from a Sports Illustrated author. I’m not talking to professional athletes every day, I’m not in an MLB clubhouse at the height of the steroid era. But I still find it so hard to believe that one’s fandom can be beaten out of them by the hard truths of journalism, by being “on the inside,” so to speak. Call it naivete or optimism, but I just don’t see it happening.

Being a fan is what makes sports meaningful. Yes, there are often stories of players overcoming hardships. There are families who have escaped poverty thanks to athletics. But the fans, the millions across the country and the globe who in many cases live for their team, are what fuel the games. They give the game life, make it more than a recreational or fitness activity.

After Lough told me about how he didn’t root anymore, I paid close attention to the Perry fans at Mercedes-Benz Stadium that night. From the student section that brandished tombstones denoting past Panthers victories to the longtime fans that graduated decades prior, those Houston County folks traveled more than 100 miles to see their school compete, and they were loud about it.

Rooting is just more fun.

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The people who shed tears when the Braves won their miraculous 2021 World Series — and those who surely would cry if the Falcons ever won Super Bowl, ever escaped the ineptitude and mediocrity they’ve been mired in — are the ones that drive the bus.

It’s not all mushy and sincere, either. The fandom that carries the game is found in the age-old sports tradition of assessing and debating the prowess of athletes, too. 

The folks in Middle Georgia who know with all their heart and guts that Nick Woodford is the most prodigal tailback that Macon has seen in many years are important. So are the ones who think that, for all Woodford’s immense talent, Westside rusher Kadiphious Iverson could seriously give him a run for his money this year.

I’ll take some heat for this, but I think Eddie Mathews is the best Braves third baseman of all time. Send in your complaints, I can’t guarantee I’ll read them.

I had a spirited office debate with Joe Kovac, of course, about whether or not Christian McCaffrey was the best back in the NFL. He claimed Nick Chubb was better, calling Jason Vorhees to back him up. (The only issue: Jason is a Browns fan.) One of my earliest memories of a sports debate with my editor was a discussion of Miguel Cabrera’s shockingly precipitous decline in Detroit.

Talking about this stuff is an obsession for sports fans.

And that brings us back to that fateful Atlanta draft pick. The reason I wanted to jump into that pool was because of all the reading I’d done on that draft class, and all the Atlanta football I’d watched the year prior. We were supposed to add on defense! We just signed Kirk Cousins! We’d debated who would be picked all morning, and not once had Penix’s name come up.

Now he’s the future, though, and as fans, all us Falcons supporters are banking on him. I love that. 

So I’m glad I didn’t jump in the pool. But I’m also glad I thought about taking a swim, and I’m glad there’s a bunch of other nuts out there who probably also felt miserable. Maybe it’s strange to put it that way, but it’s the best way to say that I love fandom. Keep arguing about menial stats, people. It’s the best way to be.